Class I 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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SABBATH 
READINGS 

FOR THE HOME CIRCLE 



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I know not where his islands lift 
Their fronded palms in air, 

1 only know I can not drift 
Beyond his love and care. 

— Whittier. 



PUBLISHED BY 

M. A. VROMAN, 

South Lancaster, Mass. 



PRESS OF 

SOUTH LANCASTER PRINTING CO. 

SOUTH LANCASTER, MASS. 

1905 



L tBRARY ot iOKORESS 

jul g iyu^ 

/^Oouyritfiii entry 
copy a. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1905, by 

M. A. VROMAN, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 
Alt Rights Reserved. 



PREFACE. 



The compiler of this volume has been gathering a large 
amount of moral and religious reading, from which selec- 
tions have been made, admitting only those which may be 
read with propriety on the Sabbath. 

This volume will be found to contain the best lessons 
for the family circle, such as will inculcate principles of 
obedience to parents, kindness and affection to brothers and 
sisters and youthful associates, benevolence to the poor, and 
the requirements of the gospel. These virtuous principles 
are illustrated by instances of conformity to them, or de- 
parture from them, in such a manner as to lead to their 
love and practice. 

Great care has been taken in compiling this volume to 
avoid introducing into it anything of a sectarian or denomi- 
national character that might hinder its free circulation 
among any denomination, or class of society, where there is 
a demand for moral and religious literature. The illustra- 
tions were made especially for this book, and are the result 
of much careful study. 

The family circle can be instructed and impressed by 
high-toned moral and religious lessons in no better way 
during a leisure hour of the Sabbath, when not engaged in 
the solemn worship of God, than to listen to one of their 
number who shall read from this precious volume. May 
the blessing of God attend it to every home circle that shall 
give it a welcome, is the prayer of the 

Publisher. 



NOTE TO THE PUBLIC. 

This collection of "Sabbath Readings" will not be sold 
in bookstores, it being especially dedicated to students who 
are working to obtain an education, and, therefore, it will 
be handled only by worthy agents. 

Believing this will meet the hearty approval of the pub- 
lic, and that " Sabbath Readings " will be appreciated by 
all lovers of the true and beautiful, and that the book will 
make for itself a place in thousands of homes, it is cheer- 
fully sent on its mission. 

The Publisher. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Affecting Scene in a Saloon . . . 388 

A Good Lesson Spoiled . . . . 192 

A Kind Word . . . . . 67 

A Life Lesson . . . . . 1 77 

A Mountain Prayer-meeting . . . 144 

An Instructive Anecdote . . . .214 

Another Commandment . . . 71 

A Retired Merchant .... 90 

A Rift in the Clouds . . . .286 

Be Just Before Generous . . . -99 

Benevolent Society . . . . 198 

Bread Upon the Waters . . . .280 

Caught in the Quicksand . . . .112 

Christ Our Refuge .... 47 

Company Manners . . . . .36 

Effect of Novel Reading . . . -95 

Evening Prayer ..... 342 

Every Heart Has Its Own Sorrow . 324 

Grandmother's Room . . . .230 

Hard Times Conquered . . . .184 

Herrings for Nothing .... 275 

How It Was Blotted Out . . . .166 



5 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Live Within Your Means . - .127 

Look to Your Thoughts . . . 397 

Lyman Dean's Testimonials • . .251 

Make It Plain ...... 83 

My House and Our House . . . 138 

Nellie Alton's Mother .... 393 

Never Indorse . . . . . .170 

Only a Husk . . . . . .151 

Out of the Wrong Pocket . . . 131 

Over the Crossing . . 304 

Put Yourself in My Place . . .312 

Richest Man in the Parish . . . 296 

Ruined at Home . . . . . 157 

Speak to Strangers . . . 360 

Story of School Life . . . .221 

Success Is the Reward of Perseverance . 291 

Susie's Prayer . . . . . .32 

The Belle of the Ballroom . . .40 

The Fence Story . . . . . 310 
The Happy New Year .... 346 

The Indian's Revenge . . . . n 

The Infidel Captain . . . . .319 

The Little Sisters . . . . 368 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 7 

The Major's Cigar . . . . . 363 

The Premium . . . . . 58 

The Record . . . , . .25 

The Right Decision .... 29 

The Scripture Quilt . . . . - 355 

The Tex Commandments . . . . 81 

The Widow's Christmas . . . .374 

The Young Musician . . . ' . 244 

Tom's Trial . . . . .50 

Unforgotten Words ..... 263 

With a Will, Joe . . . . .385 

What Shall It Profit ? . . . . 115 
Why He Didn't Smoke .... 217 

POEMS. 

Be Good . . . . . . .137 

Do With Your Might . . . .387 

Loving and Forgiving ... 57 

Our Record ...... 373 

The Record Books . . . .28 

The Shadow of the Cross ... 46 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page. 

Home, Sweet Home . . . Frontispiece. 
While He Slept His Enemy Came and Sowed 

Tares Among the Wheat . . .45 
Christ Blessing Little Children . . 77 
Christ the Good Shepherd . . .125 

Paul at Athens . . . . . 173 
Pure Religion Is Visiting the Fatherless and 

Widows in Their Affiction . . 207 
Christ the Consoler ..... 241 
Come unto Me ..... 278 
Christ in the Home of Mary and Martha . 301 
He Is Not Here; He Is Risen . . 337 
God Be Merciful to Me a Sinner . .35 5 
Announcement to Shepherds . . . 377 



THE SABBATH. 

Sabbaths, like way-marks, cheer the pilgrim's path, 
His progress mark, and keep his rest in view. 
In life's bleak winter, they are pleasant days, 
Short foretaste of the long, long spring to come. 
To every new-born soul, each hallowed morn 
Seems like the first, when everything was new. 
Time seems an angel come afresh from heaven, 
His pinions shedding fragrance as he flies, 
And his bright hour-glass running sands of gold. 

— Carlos Wilcox, 



S/fce INDIANA REVENGE 




^■^^^^JHE beautiful precept, " Do unto others as you 
M (T\ would that they should do unto you," is drawn 
J from our Lord's sermon on the mount, and 
^^^^^ should be observed by all professing Christians. 
But unless we are truly his children, we can never observe 
this great command as we ought. 

History records the fact that the Roman emperor Seve- 
rus was so much struck with the moral beauty and purity 
of this sentiment, that he ordered the "Golden Rule," to 
be inscribed upon the public buildings erected by him. 
Many facts may be stated, by which untutored heathen and 
savage tribes in their conduct have put to shame many of 
those calling themselves Christians, who have indeed the 
form of godliness, but by their words and actions deny the 
power of it. One such fact we here relate. 

Many years ago, on the outskirts of one of our distant 
new settlements, was a small but neat and pretty cottage, 
or homestead, which belonged to an industrious young 
farmer. He had, when quite a lad, left his native England, 
and sought a home and fortune among his American breth- 



12 



SABBATH READINGS. 



ren. It was a sweet and quiet place ; the cottage was built 
upon a gently rising ground, which sloped toward a spark- 
ling rivulet, that turned a large sawmill situated a little 
lower down the stream. The garden was well stocked with 
fruit-trees and vegetables, among which the magnificent 
pumpkins were already conspicuous, though as yet they 
were wanting in the golden hue which adorns them in 
autumn. On the hillside was an orchard, facing the south, 
filled with peach and cherry-trees, the latter now richly 
laden with their crimson fruit. In that direction also ex- 
tended the larger portion of the farm, now in a high state 
of cultivation, bearing heavy crops of grass, and Indian corn 
just coming into ear. On the north and east, the cottage 
was sheltered by extensive pine woods, beyond which were 
fine hunting-grounds, where the settlers, when their har- 
vests were housed, frequently resorted in large numbers to 
lay in a stock of dried venison for winter use. 

At that time the understanding between the whites and 
the Indians, was not good ; and they were then far more 
numerous than they are at the present time, and more 
feared. It was not often, however, that they came into the 
neighborhood of the cottage which has been described, 
though on one or two occasions a few Minateree Indians 
had been seen on the outskirts of the pine forests, but had 
committed no outrages, as that tribe was friendly with the 
white men. 

It was a lovely evening in June. The sun had set, 
though the heavens still glowed with those exquisite and 
radiant tints which the writer, when a child, used to imag- 
ine were vouchsafed to mortals to show them something 



THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 



13 



while yet on earth, of the glories of the New Jerusalem. 
The moon shed her silvery light all around, distinctly re- 
vealing every feature of the beautiful scene which has been 
described, and showed the tall, muscular figure of William 
Sullivan, who was seated upon the door-steps, busily em- 
ployed in preparing his scythes for the coming hay season. 
He was a good-looking young fellow, with a sunburnt, open 
countenance ; but though kind-hearted in the main, he was 
filled with prejudices, acquired when in England, against 
Americans in general, and the North American Indians in 
particular. As a boy he had been carefully instructed by 
his mother, and had received more education than was com- 
mon in those days ; but of the sweet precepts of the gospel 
he was as practically ignorant as if he had never heard them, 
and in all respects was so thoroughly an Englishman, that 
he looked with contempt on all who could not boast of be- 
longing to his own favored country. The Indians he es- 
pecially despised and detested as heathenish creatures, for- 
getful of the fact that he who has been blessed with oppor- 
tunities and privileges, and yet has abused them, is in as 
bad a case, and more guilty in the sight of God, than these 
ignorant children of the wilds. 

So intent was he upon his work, that he heeded not 
the approach of a tall Indian, accoutred for a hunting ex- 
cursion, until the words : — 

" Will you give an unfortunate hunter some supper, and 
a lodging for the night?" in a tone of supplication, met 
his ear. 

The young farmer raised his head ; a look of contempt 
curling the corners of his mouth, and an angry gleam dart- 



14 



SABBATH READINGS. 



ing from his eyes, as he replied in a tone as uncourteous as 

his words : — 

" Heathen Indian dog, you shall have nothing here ; 
begone ! " 

The Indian turned away ; then again facing young 
Sullivan, he said in a pleading voice : — 

" But I am very hungry, for it is very long since I have 
eaten ; give only a crust of bread and a bone to strengthen 
me for the remainder of my journey/ ' 

"Get you gone, heathen hound," said the farmer; "I 
have nothing for you." 

A struggle seemed to rend the breast of the Indian 
hunter, as though pride and want were contending for the 
mastery ; but the latter prevailed, and in a faint voice he 
said : — 

" Give me but a cup of cold water, for I am very faint." 

This appeal was no more successful than the others. 
With abuse he was told to drink of the river which flowed 
some distance off. This was all that he could obtain from 
one who called himself a Christian, but who allowed preju- 
dice and obstinacy to steel his heart — which to one of his 
own nation would have opened at once — to the sufferings 
of his redskinned brother. 

With a proud yet mournful air the Indian turned away, 
and slowly proceeded in the direction of the little river. 
The weak steps of the native showed plainly that his need 
was urgent ; indeed he must have been reduced to the last 
extremity, ere the haughty Indian would have asked again 
and again for that which had been once refused. 

Happily his supplicating appeal was heard by the far- 



THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 



15 



mer's wife. Rare indeed is it that the heart of woman is 
steeled to the cry of suffering humanity ; even in the sav- 
age wilds of central Africa, the enterprising and unfortu- 
nate Mungo Park was over and over again rescued from 
almost certain death by the kind and generous care of those 
females whose husbands and brothers thirsted for his blood. 

The farmer's wife, Alary Sullivan, heard the whole as 
she sat hushing her infant to rest ; and from the open case- 
ment she watched the poor Indian until she saw his form 
sink, apparently exhausted, to the ground, at no great dis- 
tance from her dwelling. Perceiving that her husband had 
finished his work, and was slowly bending his steps toward 
the stables with downcast eyes — for it must be confessed 
he did not feel very comfortable — she left the house, and 
was soon at the poor Indian's side, with a pitcher of milk 
in her hand, and a napkm, m which was a plentiful meal of 
bread and roasted kid, with a little parched corn as well. 

"Will my red brother drink some milk?'' said Alary, 
bending over the fallen Indian ; and as he arose to comply 
with her imitation, she untied the napkin and bade him eat 
and be refreshed. 

When he had finished, the Indian knelt at her feet, his 
eyes beamed with gratitude, then in his soft tone, he said : 
" Carcoochee protect the white dove from the pounces of 
the eagle ; for her sake the unfledged young shall be safe 
in its nest, and her red brother will not seek to be re- 
venged." 

Drawing a bunch of heron's feathers from his bosom, 
he selected the longest, and giving it to Alary Sullivan, 
said: " When the white dove's mate flies over the Indian's 
hunting-grounds, bid him wear this on his head." 



i6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



He then turned away ; and gliding into the woods, was 
soon lost to view. 

The summer passed away ; harvest had come and gone ; 
the wheat and maize, or Indian corn, was safely stored in 
the yard ; the golden pumpkins were gathered into their 
winter quarters, and the forests glowed with the rich and 
varied tints of autumn. Preparations now began to be 
made for a hunting excursion, and William Sullivan was in- 
cluded in the number who were going to try their fortune 
on the hunting-grounds beyond the river and the pine for- 
ests. He was bold, active, and expert in the use of his 
rifle and woodman's hatchet, and hitherto had always 
hailed the approach of this season with peculiar enjoyment, 
and no fears respecting the not unusual attacks of the 
Indians, who frequently waylaid such parties in other and 
not very distant places, had troubled him. 

But now, as the time of their departure drew near, 
strange misgivings relative to his safety filled his mind, and 
his imagination was haunted by the form of the Indian 
whom in the preceding summer he had so harshly treated. 
On the eve of the day on which they were to start, he made 
known his anxiety to his gentle wife, confessing at the same 
time that his conscience had never ceased to reproach him 
for his unkind behavior. He added, that since then all 
that he had learned in his youth from his mother upon our 
duty to our neighbors had been continually in his mind ; 
thus increasing the burden of self-reproach, by reminding 
him that his conduct was displeasing in the sight of God, 
as well as cruel toward a suffering brother. Mary Sullivan 
heard her husband in silence. When he had done, she laid 



THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 



her hand in his, looking up into his face with a smile, which 
was yet not quite free from anxiety, and then she told him 
what she had done when the Indian fell down exhausted 
upon the ground, confessing at the same time that she had 
kept this to herself, fearing his displeasure, after hearing 
him refuse any aid. Going to a closet, she took out the 
beautiful heron's feather, repeating at the same time the 
parting words of the Indian, and arguing from them that 
her husband might go without fear. 

"Nay," said Sullivan, "these Indians never forgive an 
injury." 

" Neither do they ever forget a kindness," added Mary. 
" I will sew this feather in your hunting-cap, and then trust 
you, my own dear husband, to God's keeping ; but though 
I know he could take care of you without it, yet I remem- 
ber my dear father used to say that we were never to 
neglect the use of all lawful means for our safety. His 
maxim was, ' Trust like a child, but like a man ; ' for we 
must help ourselves if we hope to succeed, and not expect 
miracles to be wrought on our behalf, while we quietly fold 
our arms and do nothing." " Dear William," she added, 
after a pause, " now that my father is dead and gone, I 
think much more of what he used to say than when he was 
with me ; and I fear that we are altogether wrong in the 
way we are going on, and I feel that if we were treated as 
we deserve, God would forget us, and leave us to ourselves, 
because we have so forgotten him." 

The tears were in Mary's eyes as she spoke ; she was 
the only daughter of a pious English sailor, and in early girl- 
hood had given promise of becoming all that a religious. 

2 



18 



SABBATH READINGS. 



parent could desire. But her piety was then more of the 
head than of the heart ; it could not withstand the trial of 
the love professed for her by Sullivan, who was anything 
but a serious character, and like " the morning cloud and 
the early dew," her profession of religion vanished away, 
and as his wife she lost her relish for that in which she 
once had taken such delight. She was very happy in ap- 
pearance, yet there was a sting in all her pleasures, and that 
was the craving of a spirit disquieted and restless from the 
secret though ever-present conviction that she had sinned 
in departing from the living God. By degrees these im- 
pressions deepened ; the Spirit of grace was at work with- 
in, and day after day was bringing to her memory the 
truths she had heard in childhood and was leading her back 
from her wanderings by a way which she knew not. A 
long conversation followed ; and that night saw the young 
couple kneeling for the first time in prayer at domestic 
worship. 

The morning that witnessed the departure of the hunt- 
ers was one of surpassing beauty. No cloud was to be 
seen upon the brow of William Sullivan. The bright 
beams of the early sun seemed to have dissipated the fears 
which had haunted him on the previous evening, and it re- 
quired an earnest entreaty on the part of his wife to pre- 
vent his removing the feather from his cap. She held his 
hand while she whispered in his ear, and a slight quiver 
agitated his lips as he said, " Well, Mary dear, if you really 
think this feather will protect me from the redskins, for 
your sake I will let it remain. " William then put on his 
cap, shouldered his rifle, and the hunters were soon on 
their way seeking for game. 



THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 



19 



The day wore away as is usual with people on such ex- 
cursions. Many animals were killed, and at night the 
hunters 1 took shelter in the cave of a bear, which one of the 
party was fortunate enough to shoot, as he came at sunset 
toward the bank of the river. His flesh furnished them 
with some excellent • steaks for supper, and his skin spread 
upon a bed of leaves pillowed their heads through a long 
November night. 

With the first dawn of morning, the hunters left their 
rude shelter and resumed the chase. William, in conse- 
quence of following a fawn too ardently, separated from his 
companions, and in trying to rejoin them became bewil- 
dered. Hour after hour he sought in vain for some mark 
by which he might thread the intricacy of the forest, the 
trees of which were so thick that it was but seldom that he 
could catch a glimpse of the sun ; and not being much ac- 
customed to the woodman's life, he could not find his way 
as one of them would have done, by noticing which side of 
the trees was most covered with moss or lichen. Several 
times he started in alarm, for he fancied that he could see 
the glancing eyeballs of some lurking Indian, and he often 
raised his gun to his shoulder, prepared to sell his life as 
dearly as he could. 

Toward sunset the trees lessened and grew thinner, and 
by and by he found himself upon the outskirts of an im- 
mense prairie, covered with long grass, and here and there 
with patches of low trees and brushwood. A river ran 
through this extensive tract, and toward it Sullivan directed 
his lagging footsteps. He was both faint and weary, not 
having eaten anything since the morning. On the bank of 



20 



SABBATH READINGS. 



the river there were many bushes, therefore Sullivan ap- 
proached with caution, having placed his rifle at half-cock, 
to be in readiness against any danger that might present 
itself. He was yet some yards from its brink, when a 
rustling in the underwood made him pause, and the next 
instant out rushed an enormous buffalo. These animals 
usually roam through the prairies in immense herds, some- 
times amounting to many thousands in number ; but occa- 
sionally they are met with singly, having been separated 
from the main body either by some accident, or by the 
Indians, who show the most wonderful dexterity in hunting 
these formidable creatures. The buffalo paused for a mo- 
ment, and then lowering his enormous head, rushed forward 
toward the intruder. Sullivan took aim ; but the beast was 
too near to enable him to do so with that calmness and cer- 
tainty which would have insured success, and though slightlv 
wounded, it still came on with increased fury. Sullivan 
was a very powerful man, and though weakened by his long 
fast and fatiguing march, despair gave him courage and 
nerved his arm with strength, and with great presence of 
mind he seized the animal as it struck him on the side with 
its horn, drawing out his knife with his left hand, in the 
faint hope of being able to strike it into his adversary's 
throat. But the struggle was too unequal to be successful, 
and the buffalo had shaken him off, and thrown him to the 
ground, previous to trampling him to death when he 
heard the sharp crack of a rifle behind him, and in another 
instant the animal sprang into the air, then fell heavily close 
by, and indeed partly upon, the prostrate Sullivan. A dark 
form in the Indian garb glided by a moment after, and 



THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 21 



plunged his hunting-knife deep into the neck of the buffalo, 
though the shot was too true not to have taken effect, hav- 
ing penetrated to the brain ; but the great arteries of the 
neck are cut, and the animal thus bled, to render the flesh 
more suitable for keeping a greater length of time. 

The Indian then turned to Sullivan, who had now drawn 
himself from under the buffalo, and who, with mingled feel- 
ings of hope and fear, caused by his ignorance whether the 
tribe to w r hich the Indian belonged was friendly or not, 
begged of him to direct him to the nearest white settle- 
ment. 

" If the weary hunter will rest till morning, the eagle 
will show him the way to the nest of his white dove/' was 
the reply of the Indian, in that figurative style so general 
among his people ; and then taking him by the hand he led 
him through the rapidly increasing darkness, until they 
reached a small encampment lying near the river, and Under 
the cover of some trees which grew upon its banks. Here 
the Indian gave Sullivan a plentiful supply of hominy, or 
bruised Indian corn boiled to a paste, and some venison ; 
then spreading some skins of animals slain in the chase, for 
his bed, he signed to him to occupy it, and left him to his 
repose. 

The light of dawn had not yet appeared in the east when 
the Indian awoke Sullivan ; and after a slight repast, they 
both started for the settlement of the whites. The Indian 
kept in advance of his companion, and threaded his way 
through the still darkened forest with a precision and a ra- 
pidity which showed him to be well acquainted with its paths 
and secret recesses. As he took the most direct way, with- 



24 



SABBATH READINGS. 



men "the glad tidings of great joy," that " Christ Jesus 
came into the world to save sinners." He told them that 
"whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have 
everlasting life/' whether they be Jews or Gentiles, bond or 
free, white or red, for "we are all one in Christ. " Many 
years he thus labored, until, worn out with toil and age, he 
returned to his white friend's home, where in a few months 
he fell asleep in Jesus, giving to his friends the certain hope 
of a joyful meeting hereafter at the resurrection of the just. 

Many years have passed since then. There is no trace 
now of the cottage of the Sullivans, who both rest in the 
same forest churchyard, where lie the bones of Carcoochee ; 
but their descendants still dwell in the same township. 
Often does the gray-haired grandsire tell this little history 
to his rosy grandchildren, while seated under the stately 
magnolia which shades the graves of the quiet sleepers of 
whom he speaks. And the lesson which he teaches to his 
youthful hearers, is one which all would do well to bear in 
mind, and act upon ; namely, " Whatsoever ye would that 
men should do to you, do ye even so to them. ,, 



The Record. 



" The hours are viewless angels, that still go gliding by, 

And bear each moment's record up to Him that sits on high." 

MOTHER wrote a story about her daughter 
A ■ in which she represented her as making some 
h I unkind and rude remarks to her sister. Julia 
^» was a reader of the newspapers, and it did not 
escape her notice. The incident was a true one, but it 
was one she did not care to remember, much less did she 
like to see it in print. 

" Oh ! mother, mother," she exclaimed, " I do not think 
you are kind to write such stories about me. I do not like 
to have you publish it when I say anything wrong." 

"How do you know it is you? It is not your name." 
Julia then read the story aloud. 

" It is I. I know it is I, mother. I shall be afraid of 
you if you write such stories about me, I shall not dare to 
speak before you." 

" Remember, my child, that God requireth the past, 
and nothing which you say, or do, or think, is lost to him." 

Poor Julia was quite grieved that her mother should 
record the unpleasant and unsisterly words which fell from 
her lips. She did not like to have any memorial of her ill- 
nature preserved. Perhaps she would never have thought 
of those words again in this life ; but had she never read 
this passage of fearful import, the language of Jesus Christ : 

25 



26 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" But I say unto you that for every idle word that men shall 
speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judg- 
ment " ? Julia thought that the careless words which had 
passed her lips would be forgotten, but she should have 
known that every word and act of our lives is to be re- 
corded and brought to our remembrance. 

I have known children to be very much interested, and 
to be influenced to make a great effort to do right, by an 
account-book which was kept by their mothers. When 
such a book is kept at school, and every act is recorded, 
the pupils are much more likely to make an effort to per- 
form the duties required of them. So it is in Sabbath- 
schools. I recently heard a Sabbath-school superintendent 
remark that the school could not be well sustained unless 
accounts were kept of the attendance, etc., of the pupils. 

Many years ago a man, brought before a tribunal, was 
told to relate his story freely without fear, as it should not 
be used against him. He commenced to do so, but had not 
proceeded far before he heard the scratching of a pen be- 
hind a curtain. In an instant he was on his guard, for by 
tha" sound he knew that, notwithstanding their promise, a 
record was being taken of what he said. 

Silently and unseen by us the angel secretaries are tak- 
ing a faithful record of our words and actions, and even of 
our thoughts. Do we realize this ? and a more solemn 
question is, What is the record they are making ? 

Not long ago I read of a strange list. It was an exact 
catalogue of the crimes committed by a man who was at 
last executed in Norfolk Island, with the various punish- 
ments he had received for his different offenses. It was 



THE RECORD. 



27 



written out in small hand by the chaplain, and was nearly 
three yards long. 

What a sickening catalogue to be crowded into one brief 
life. Yet this man was once an innocent child. A mother 
no doubt bent lovingly over him, a father perhaps looked 
upon him in pride and joy, and imagination saw him rise to 
manhood honored and trusted by his fellow-men. But the 
boy chose the path of evil and wrong-doing regardless of 
the record he was making, and finally committed an act, 
the penalty for which was death, and he perished miserably 
upon the scaffold. 

Dear readers, most of you are young, and your record is 
but just commenced. Oh, be warned in time, and seek to 
have a list of which you will not be ashamed when scanned 
by Jehovah, angels, and men. Speak none but kind, loving 
words, have your thoughts and aspirations pure and noble, 
crowd into your life all the good deeds you can, and thus 
crowd out evil ones. 

We should not forget that an account-book is kept by 
God, in which all the events of our lives are recorded, and 
that even every thought will be brought before us at the 
day of judgment. In that day God will judge the secrets 
of men : he will bring to light the hidden things of dark- 
ness, and will make manifest the counsels of the heart. 

There is another book spoken of in the Bible. The book 
of life, and it is said that no one can enter heaven whose 
name is not written in the Lamb's book of life. 

Angels are now weighing moral worth. The record 
will soon close, either by death or the decree, " He that is 
unjust, let him be unjust still, and he which is filthy, let 



28 



SABBATH READINGS. 



him be filthy still ; and he that is righteous, let him be 
righteous still ; and he that is holy let him be holy still/' 
We have but one short, preparing hour in which to redeem 
the past and get ready for the future. Our life record will 
soon be examined. What shall it be ! 



THE RECORD BOOKS. 

There are two angels that attend unseen 
Each one of us, and in great books record 
Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down 
The good ones, after every action, closes 
His volume and ascends with it to God ; 
The other keeps his dreadful day-book open 
Till sunset, that we may repent ; which doing, 
The record of the action fades away, 
And leaves a line of white across the page. 



The Right Decision. 




T was the beginning of vacation when Mr. 
Davis, a friend of my father, came to see us, 
and asked to let me go home with him. I was 
much pleased with the thought of going out of 



town. The journey was delightful, and when we reached 
Mr. Davis' house everything looked as if I were going to 
have a fine time. Fred Davis, a boy about my own age, 
took me cordially by the hand, and all the family soon 
seemed like old friends. " This is going to be a vacation 
worth having," I said to myself several times during the 
evening, as we all played games, told riddles, and laughed 
and chatted merrily as could be. 

At last Mrs. Davis said it was almost bedtime. Then 
I expected family prayers, but we were very soon directed 
to our chambers. How strange it seemed to me, for I had 
never before been in a household without the family altar 
"Come," said Fred, "mother says you and I are going to. 
be bedfellows," and I followed him up two pair of stairs to 
a nice little chamber which he called his room ; and he 
opened a drawer and showed me a box, and boat, and 
knives, and powder-horn, and all his treasures, and told me 
a world of new things about what the boys did there. He 
undressed first and jumped into bed. I was much longer 
about it, for a new set of thoughts began to rise in my 
mind. 



*9 



30 



SABBATH READINGS. 



When my mother put my portmanteau into my hand ? 
just before the coach started, she said tenderly, in a low 
tone, " Remember, Robert, that you are a Christian boy.' , 
I knew very well what that meant, and I had now just come 
to a point of time when her words were to be minded. At 
home I was taught the duties of a Christian child ; abroad 
I must not neglect them, and one of these was evening 
prayer. From a very little boy I had been in the habit of 
kneeling and asking the forgiveness of God, for Jesus' sake, 
acknowledging his mercies, and seeking his protection and 
blessing. 

" Why do n't you come to bed, Robert?" cried Fred. 
"What are you sitting there for?" I was afraid to pray, 
and afraid not to pray. It seemed that I could not kneel 
down and pray before Fred. What would he say ? Would 
he not laugh ? The fear of Fred made me a coward. Yet 
I could not lie down on a prayerless bed. If I needed the 
protection of my heavenly Father at home, how much more 
abroad. I wished many wishes ; that I had slept alone, 
that Fred would go to sleep, or something else, I hardly 
knew T what. But Fred would not go to sleep. 

Perhaps struggles like these take place in the bosom of 
every one when he leaves home and begins to act for him- 
self, and on his decision may depend his character for time, 
and for eternity. With me the struggle was severe. At 
last, to Fred's cry, " Come, boy, come to bed," I mustered 
courage to say, " I will kneel down and pray first ; that is 
always my custom." "Pray?" said Fred, turning himself 
over on his pillow, and saying no more. His propriety of 
conduct made me ashamed. Here I had long been afraid 



THE RIGHT DECISION. 



3i 



of him, and yet when he knew my wishes he was quiet and 
left me to myself. How thankful I was that duty and con- 
science triumphed. 

That settled my future course. It gave me strength 
for time to come. I believe that the decision of the 
" Christian boy," by God's blessing, made me the Christian 
man ; for in after years I was thrown amid trials and temp- 
tations which must have drawn me away from God and 
from virtue, had it not been for my settled habit of secret 
prayer. 

Let every boy who has pious parents, read and think 
about this. You have been trained in Christian duties and 
principles. When you go from home do not leave them 
behind you. Carry them with you and stand by them, and 
then in weakness and temptation, by God's help, they will 
stand by you. Take a manly stand on the side of your 
God and Saviour, of your father's God. It is by abandon- 
ing their Christian birthright that so many boys go astray, 
and grow up to be young men dishonoring parents, without 
hope and without God in the world. 




Graham, "let's play hunt the squirrel." 

All assented eagerly, and a large circle was formed with 
Xed Graham for leader, because he was the largest. 

" Come, Susie," said one of the boys, to a little girl who 
stood on one side, and seemed to shrink from joining them. 

"Oh, never mind her! " said Xed, with a little toss of 
his head, " she's nobody, anyhow. Her father drinks." 

A quick flush crept over the child's pale face as she 
heard the cruel, thoughtless words. 

She was very sensitive, and the arrow had touched her 
heart in its tenderest place. 

Her father was a drunkard, she knew, but to be taunted 
with it before so many was more than she could bear ; and 
with great sobs heaving from her bosom, and hot tears fill- 

32 



SUSIE'S PRAYER, 



33 



ing her eyes, she turned and ran away from the playground. 

Her mother was sitting by the window when she 
reached home, and the tearful face of the little girl told 
that something had happened to disturb her. 

"What is the matter, Susie?" she asked, kindly. 

"Oh mother," Susie said, with the tears dropping down 
her cheeks, as she hid her face in her mother's lap, "Ned 
Graham said such a cruel thing about me," and here the 
sobs choked her voice so that she could hardly speak ; " He 
said that I wasn't anybody, and that father drinks." 

"My poor little girl," Mrs. Ellet said, very sadly. 
There were tears in her eyes, too. 

Such taunts as this were nothing new. 

"Oh, mother," Susie said, as she lifted her face, wet 
with tears, from her mother's lap, " I can't bear to have 
them say so, and just as if / had done something wicked. 
I wish father wouldn't drink! Do you suppose he'll ever 
leave it off?" 

" I hope so," Mrs. Ellet answered, as she kissed Susie's 
face where the tears clung like drops of dew on a rose. 
" I pray that he may break off the habit, and I can do noth- 
ing but pray, and leave the rest to God." 

That night Mr. Ellet came home to supper, as usual. 
He was a hard-working man, and a good neighbor. So 
everybody said, but he had the habit of intemperance so 
firmly fixed upon him that everybody thought he would 
end his days in the drunkard's grave. Susie kissed him 
when he came through the gate, as she always did, but 
there was something in her face that went to his heart — a 
look so sad, and full of touching sorrow for one so young 
as she ! 

3 



34 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"What ails my little girl?" he asked as he patted her 
curly head. 

"I can't tell you, father," she answered, slowly. 
"Why?" he asked. 

" Because it would make you feel bad." Susie replied. 

"I guess not," he said, as they walked up to the door 
together. "What is it, Susie?" 

"Oh, father," and Susie burst into tears again as the 
memory of Ned Graham's words came up freshly in her 
mind, " I wish you wouldn't drink any more, for the boys 
and girls don't like to play with me, 'cause you do." 

Mr. Ellet made no reply. But something stirred in his 
heart that made him ashamed of himself ; ashamed that he 
was the cause of so much sorrow and misery. After sup- 
per he took his hat, and Mrs. Ellet knew only too well 
w T here he was going. 

At first he had resolved to stay at home that evening, 
but the force of habit was so strong that he could not re- 
sist, and he yielded, promising himself that he would not 
drink more than once or twice. 

Susie had left the table before he had finished his sup- 
per, and as he passed the great clump of lilacs by the path, 
on his way to the gate, he heard her voice and stopped to 
listen to what she was saving. 

"Oh, good Jesus, please don't let father drink any 
more. Make him just as he used to be when I was a baby, 
and then the boys and girls can't call me a drunkard's 
child, or say such bad things about me. Please, dear Jesus, 
for mother's sake and mine." 

Susie's father listened to her simple prayer with a great 
lump swelling in his throat. 



SUSIE'S PRAYER. 



35 



And when it was ended he went up to her, and knelt 
down by her side, and put his arm around her, oh, so lov- 
ingly ! 

" God in Heaven," he said, very solemnly, "I promise 
to-night, never to touch another drop of liquor as long as I 
live. Give me strength to keep my pledge, and help me to 
be a better man/' 

"Oh, father," Susie cried, her arms about his neck, and 
her head upon his breast, " I'm so glad! I shan't care 
about anything they say to me now, for I know you won't 
be a drunkard any more." 

"God helping me, I will be a man!" he answered, as, 
taking Susie by the hand he went back into the house 
where his wife was sitting with the old patient look of sor- 
row T on her face. — the look that had become so habitual. 

I cannot tell you of the joy and thanksgiving that went 
up from that hearthstone that night. I wish I could, but 
it was too deep a joy which filled the hearts of Susie and 
her mother to be described. 

Was not Susie's prayer answered? 



Company Manners. 




'ELL," said Bessie, very emphatically, " I think 
I Russell Morton is the best boy there is, any- 
how." 

"Why so, pet?" I asked, settling myself in 



the midst of the busy group gathered around in the firelight. 

"I can tell," interrupted Wilfred, "Bessie likes Russ 
because he is so polite." 

"I don't care, you may laugh," said frank little Bess ; 
"'that is the reason — at least, one of them. He's nice ; he 
do n't stamp and hoot in the house — and he never says, 
1 Halloo Bess,' or laughs when I fall on the ice." 

"Bessie wants company manners all the time," said 
Wilfred. And Bell added : " We should all act grown up, 
if she had her fastidiousness suited." 

Bell, be it said in passing, is very fond of long words, 
and has asked for a dictionary for her next birthday present. 

Dauntless Bessie made haste to retort, "Well, if grow- 
ing up would make some folks more agreeable, it's a pity 
we can't hurry about it." 

"Wilfred, what are company manners?" interposed I 
from the depths of my easy chair. 

"Why — why— they're — It's behaving, you know, when 
folks are here, or we go a visiting." 

" Company manners are good manners," said Horace. 

" Oh yes," answered I, meditating on it. "I see ; man- 
36 



COMPANY MANNERS. 



37 



ners that are too good — for mamma — but just right for Mrs. 
Jones." 

" That's it," cried Bess. 

" But let us talk it over a bit. Seriously, why should 
you be more polite to Mrs. Jones than to mamma ? You 
do n't love her better ? " 

" Oh my ! no indeed," chorused the voices. 

"Well, then, I don't see why Mrs. Jones should have 
all that's agreeable ; why the hats should come off, and the 
tones soften, and 'please,' and ' thank you,' and ( excuse 
me,' should abound in her house, and not in mamma's." 

"Oh! that's very different." 

"And mamma knows we mean all right. Besides, you 
are not fair, cousin ; we were talking about boys and girls 
— not grown up people." 

Thus my little audience assailed me, and I was forced 
to a change of base. 

" Well, about boys and girls, then. Can not a boy be 
just as happy, if, like our friend Russell, he is gentle to the 
little girls, does n't pitch his little brother in the snow, and 
respects the rights of his cousins and intimate friends ? It 
seems to me that politeness is just as suitable to the play- 
ground as to the parlor." 

" Oh, of course ; if you'd have a fellow give up all fun," 
said Wilfred. 

"My dear boy," said I, "that isn't what I want. Run, 
and jump, and shout as much as you please ; skate, and 
slide, and snowball ; but do it with politeness to other boys 
and girls, and I'll agree you will find just as much fun in 
it. You sometimes say I pet Burke Holland more than 



38 



SABBATH READINGS. 



any of my child-friencls. Can I help it ? For though he is 
lively and sometimes frolicsome, his manners are always 
good. You never see him with his chair tipped up, or his 
hat on in the house. He never pushes ahead of you to get 
first out of the room. If you are going out, he holds open 
the door ; if weary, it is Burke who brings a glass of water, 
places a chair, hands a fan, springs to pick up your hand- 
kerchief — and all this without being told to do so, or inter- 
fering with his own gaiety in the least. 

"This attention isn't only given to me as the guest, or 
to Mrs. Jones when he visits her, but . to mamma, Aunt 
Jennie, and little 'sister, just as carefully ; at home, in school, 
or at play, there is always just as much guard against rude- 
ness. His courtesy is not merely for state occasions, but a 
well-fitting garment worn constantly. His manliness is 
genuine loving-kindness. In fact, that is exactly what real 
politeness is ; carefulness for others, and watchfulness over 
ourselves, lest our angles shall interfere with their com- 
fort." 

It is impossible for boys and girls to realize, until they 
have grown too old to easily adopt new ones, how impor- 
tant it is to guard against contracting carelessness and awk- 
ward habits of speech and manners. Some very unwisely 
think it is not necessary to be so very particular about these 
things except when company is present. But this is a grave 
mistake, for coarseness will betray itself in spite of the most 
watchful sentinelship. 

It is impossible to indulge in one form of speech, or 
have one set of manners at home, and another abroad, be- 
cause in moments of confusion or bashf ulness, such as every 



COMPANY MANNERS. 



39 



young person feels sometimes who is sensitive and modest, 
the habitual mode of expression will discover itself. 

It is not, however, merely because refinement of speech 
and grace of manners are pleasing to the sense, that our 
young friends are recommended to cultivate and practice 
them, but because outward refinement of any sort reacts as 
it were on the character and makes it more sweet and gentle 
and lovable, and these are qualities that attract and draw 
about the possessor a host of kind friends. Then again 
they increase self-respect. 

The very consciousness that one prepossesses and 
pleases people, makes most persons feel more respect for 
themselves, just as the knowledge" of being well dressed 
makes them feel more respectable. You can see by this 
simple example, how every effort persons make toward per- 
fecting themselves brings some pleasant reward. 



The Belle of the Ballroom. 



ONLY this once," said Edward Allston, fixing a 
pair of loving eyes on the beautiful girl beside 
him — " only this once, sister mine. Your 
dress will be my gift, and will not, therefore, 
diminish your charity fund ; and besides, if the influences 
of which you have spoken, do, indeed, hang so alluringly 
about a ballroom, should you not seek to guard me from 
their power ? You will go, will you not ? For me — for 
me?" 

The Saviour, too, whispered to the maiden, " Decide for 
me — for me." But her spirit did not recognize the tones, 
for of late it had been bewildered with earthly music. 

She paused, however, and her brother waited her reply 
in silence. 

Beware ! Helen Allston, beware ! The sin is not less- 
ened that the tempter is so near to thee. Like the sparkle 
of the red wine to the inebriate are the seductive influences 
of the ballroom. Thy foot will fall upon roses, but they 
will be roses of this world, not those that bloom for eternity. 
Thou wilt lose the fervor and purity of thy love, the prompt- 
ness of thy obedience, the consolation of thy trust. The 
holy calm of thy closet will become irksome to thee, and 
thy power of resistance will be diminished many fold, for 
this is the first great temptation. But Helen will not be- 
ware. She forgets her Saviour, The melody of that rich 
4 o 



THE BELLE OF THE BALLROOM. 41 



voice is dearer to her than the pleadings of gospel memo- 
ries. 

Two years previous to the scene just described, Helen 
Allston hoped she had been converted. For a time she was 
exact in the discharge of her social duties, regular in her 
closet exercises, ardent, yet equable, in her love. Conscious 
of her weakness, she diligently used all those aids, so fitted 
to sustain and cheer. Day by day, she rekindled her torch 
at the holy fire which comes streaming on to us from the 
luminaries of the past — from Baxter, Taylor, and Flavel, 
and many a compeer whose names live in our hearts, and 
linger on our lips. She was alive to the present also. 
Upon her table a beautiful commentary, upon the yet un- 
fulfilled prophecies, lay, the records of missionary labor and 
success. The sewing circle busied her active fingf rs, and 
the Sabbath-school kept her affections warm, and rendered 
-her knowledge practical and thorough. But at length the 
things of the world began insensibly to win upon her re- 
gard. She was the child of wealth, and fashion spoke of 
her taste and elegance. She was very lovely, and the voice 
of flattery mingled with the accents of honest praise. She 
was agreeable in manners, sprightly in conversation, and 
was courted and caressed. She heard with more compla- 
cency, reports from the gay circles she had once frequented, 
and noted with ftiore interest the ever-shifting pageantry of 
folly. Then she lessened her charities, furnished her ward- 
robe more lavishly, and was less scrupulous in the disposal 
of her time. She formed acquaintances among the light 
and frivolous, and to fit herself for intercourse with them, 
read the books they read, until others became insipid. 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Edward Allston was proud of his sister, and loved her, 
too, almost to idolatry. 

They had scarcely been separated from childhood, and 
it was a severe blow to him when she shunned the amuse- 
ments they had so long shared together. He admired in- 
deed the excellency of her second life, the beauty of her 
aspirations, the loftiness of her aims, but he felt deeply the 
want of that unity in hope and purpose which had existed 
between them. He felt, at times, indignant, as if some- 
thing had been taken from himself. Therefore, he strove 
by many a device to lure her into the path he was treading. 
He was very selfish in this, but he was unconscious of it. 
He would have climbed precipices, traversed continents, 
braved the ocean in its wrath, to have rescued her from 
physical danger, but, like many others, thoughtless as him- 
self, he did not dream of the fearful importance of the re- 
sult ; did not know r that the Infinite alQne could compute 
the hazard of the tempted one. Thus far had he succeeded, 
that she had consented to attend with him a brilliant ball. 

"It will be a superb affair," he said, half aloud, as he 
walked down the street. "The music will be divine, too. 
And she used to be so fond of dancing ! 'T was a lovely 
girl spoiled, when the black-coated gentry preached her into 
their notions. And yet — and yet — pshaw ! — all cant ! — all 
cant ! What harm can there be in it ? And if she does 
withstand all this, I will yield the point that there is some- 
thing — yes, a great deal in her religion. 

So musing, he proceeded to the shop of Mrs. Crofton, 
the most fashionable dressmaker in the place, and forgot 
his momentary scruples in the consultation as to the proper 



THE BELLE OF THE BALLROOM. 43 

materials for Helen's dress, which was to be a present from 
him, and which he determined should be worthy her grace 
and beauty. 

The ball was over, and Helen stood in her festal cos- 
tume, before the ample mirror in her chamber, holding in 
one hand a white kid glove she had just withdrawn. She 
had indeed been the belle of the ballroom. Simplicity of 
life, and a joyous spirit, are the wonder-workers, and she 
was irresistibly bright and fresh among the faded and hack- 
neyed of heated assembly rooms. The most delicate and 
intoxicating flattery had been offered her, and wherever she 
turned, she met the glances of admiration. Her brother, 
too, had been proudly assiduous, had followed her with his 
eyes so perpetually as to seem scarcely conscious of the 
presence of another ; and there she stood, minute after 
minute, lost in the recollections of her evening triumph. 

Almost queenlike looked she, the rich folds of her satin 
rote giving fullness to her slender form, and glittering as if 
woven with silver threads. A chain of pearls lay on her 
neck, and gleamed amid the shading curls, which floated 
from beneath a chaplet of white roses. She looked up at 
length, smiled at her lovely reflection in the mirror, and 
then wrapping herself in her dressing-gown, took up a vol- 
ume of sacred poems. But when she attempted to read, 
her mind wandered to the dazzling scene she had just quit- 
ted. She knelt to pray, but the brilliant vision haunted 
her still, and ever as the wind stirred the vines about the 
window, there came back that alluring music. 

She rose with a pang of self-reproach. Instead of the 
confidence, the consciousness of protection, the holy serenity 



44 



SABBATH READINGS. 



with which she usually sought her pillow, she experienced 
an excitement and restlessness which nothing could allay. 
She attempted to meditate, but with every thought of duty 
came memories of the festal garlands, and the blazing lamps, 
and the flitting figures of the merry dancers. 

An open Bible lay on the window-seat and as she passed 
it she read : "Another parable put he forth unto them, say- 
ing : The kingdom of heaven is likened to a man which 
sowed good seed in his field. But while he slept, his enemy 
came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way." 

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she exclaimed, " In the 
field of my heart also hath the enemy sown tares." She 
took up the book, and read again ; then too soulful to re- 
main quiet, she rapidly paced the chamber. Resolutely and 
carefully she reviewed the past, back to her first faint trem- 
bling hope. Rigorously, as in the presence of her Maker, 
she scanned her first departure from the narrow path ; and 
if her earlier convictions were pungent, tenfold more in- 
tense was the agony of this her second awakening. 

In the solitude of his chamber, Edward thought with 
less elation of his successful plan. He believed that Helen 
would have yielded to no ordinary temptation, and felt that 
he had been scarcely generous to enlist her affections against 
her principles. His repeated, " It is but a trifle," did not 
satisfy him ; and when he had listened hour after hour to 
her footfall, he could no longer restrain his inclination to 
soothe her emotion. In vain he assayed all the arguments, 
all the sophistry, which the world employs to attract the 
lukewarm professor. 

" Do not seek to console me," said Helen, "for such 



Copyrighted by M. A. Vroman, 1905. 

While He Slept Hrs Enemy Came and Sowed Tares Among the 

Wheat. 



THE BELLE OF THE BALLROOM, 45 



tears are salutary, my dear brother. I have virtually said 
that the joys of religion are fading and unsatisfactory ; I 
must sometimes seek for others. I have quieted more than 
one uneasy conscience, by throwing the influence of a pro- 
fessing Christian into the scale of the world. I have wan- 
dered from my Father's side to the society of his rebel sub- 
jects. And yet I have cause to mourn less for this one 
transgression, than for the alienation of heart, which led the 
way to it. Had I not fallen far, very far, from the strength 
and purity of my earlier love, even your pleadings could not 
have moved me." 

" But the Bible says nothing about such amusements, 
Helen." 

" Not in words, perhaps, but in effect. Put the case to 
your own heart, Edward. Would you have me choose for 
my companions those who treat you with neglect ? Would 
you wish me to frequent places, whence I should return, 
careless and cold in my manner toward you ? Ah, brother ! 
I loved God once. I saw his hand in everything around 
me. I felt his presence perpetually, and trusted, childlike, 
to his protecting arm. But now I regard him less, pray 
less, read less, and give less." And then she revealed to 
her brother her beautiful experience — beautiful till she grew 
negligent and formal — with a truth, an earnestness, a loving 
simplicity, that for the first time gave him some insight into 
the nature of true piety. 

"And now, dear Edward," she said, "read to me 
Christ's prayer to the people, that I -may feel sure that they 
prayed for me." 

As she listened, the varying expressions of counte= 



4 6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



nance indicated many and varied emotions. Submission, 
sorrow, love, and faith — all were there. When Edward had 
finished they knelt together, and Helen sorrowfully, yet 
hopefully, poured out her full soul in confession, and most 
touchingly she besought the divine compassion upon her 
erring brother. 

The carol of the birds went up with the whispered amen 
of the penitent, the blossoms of the climbing honeysuckle 
sent in her fragrance, and the morning sun smiled on them 
as they rose from prayer. The face of Helen reflected her 
inward gladness, and restored peace shone in her dark eyes 
and tranquil countenance. "Thou art happier than I," 
said Edward, as he turned from the chamber. 

THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 

" Aye, and the race is just begun, 
The world is all before me now, 
The sun is in the eastern sky, 
And long the shadows westward lie ; 
In everything that meets my eye 
A splendor and a joy I mind 
. A glory that is undesigned.*' 

Ah ! youth, attempt that path with care, 
The shadow of the cross is there. 

" I've time," he said, " to rest awhile, 
And sip the fragrant wine of life, 
My lute to pleasure's halls I'll bring 
And while the sun ascends I'll sing, 
And all my world without shall ring 
Like merry chiming bells that peal 
Not half the rapture that they feel." 
Alas ! he found but tangled moss, 
Above the shadow of the cross. 




V^^^^^HERE were six cities in the land of Canaan 
m C*\ Ay hich were set apart as places of refuge, to 
EL J which a man might flee if he had, either by 

^^^^^ accident or design, killed another. These cities 
were easy of access. Three were on the west side of the 
river Jordan, and three on the east side. Every year the 
roads leading to them were examined, to see that they were 
in good condition, and that there was nothing in the way 
to stop the manslayer as he was running from his pursuer. 
At different points there were the guide-boards, and on 
them were written, Refuge ! Refuge ! 

If any man by accident killed another, and reached one 
of these cities before his pursuer, he was allowed to stay 
there until the death of the high-priest who was then living. 
But if in anger a man had purposely killed another, then, 
although he sought refuge in one of these cities, he was 
given up to the avenger of blood to be slain. You will find 
more about these cities and their names if you will read the 
thirty-fifth chapter of Numbers, the nineteenth chapter of 
Deuteronomy, and the twentieth chapter of Joshua, 

47 



4 8 



SABBATH READINGS. 



But what interest can boys and girls and all older per- 
sons have in these cities ? 

I will try to tell you. God has different ways of teach- 
ing. A great many things about which we read in the Old 
Testament are what is called types. A type, in scripture 
language, means a pattern or a likeness to a person who is 
to come, or to an event which is to take place. It is sup- 
posed to point forward to something more valuable than it_ 
self. Thus, for example, the blood of the lamb which was 
slain on the Jewish altar was a type, or a foreshowing, of the 
crucifixion of Jesus Christ for our salvation. Hence John 
the Baptist pointing to the Saviour, said to his disciples, 
" Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of 
the world." John I :2g. The paschal lamb, which was 
slain to commemorate the deliverance of the Jews from 
the bondage of Egypt, and the lamb which was offered daily, 
both morning and evening, in the sendee of the temple, 
were representations of the greater sacrifice which Christ 
came from heaven to make for our salvation. 

So the land of Canaan was a type of heaven. The lift- 
ing up of the brazen serpent on a pole was a type of our 
Saviour's crucifixion ; and the cities of refuge were a beauti- 
ful type of Jesus Christ, who is the sinner's refuge. 

You know, my dear children, that we have all sinned, 
and that we all need a place of safety. The avenger says, 
"Thou shalt surely die." Escape for thy life. But that 
we may not die eternally, God has given us the Bible as 
our guide-board ; and the Bible is constantly pointing to 
Jesus Christ as the sinner's refuge. He is our hiding-place. 
It is to him Isaiah refers when he says, " And a man shall 



CHRIST OUR REFUGE. 



49 



be as a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the 
tempest ; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow 
of a great rock in a weary land." 

The way to our city of refuge is plain. " I am the 
way," is the Saviour's own direction. The gate is always 
open, and the assurance is, " Him that cometh to me I will 
in no wise cast out." 

I want you to remember, dear children, that it is a great 
deal easier to run to this city of refuge when you are young, 
than it will be if you put it off until you are older. The 
promise of the Saviour is, " Those that seek me early shall 
find me." Will you not seek him when he may be found? 
How sad it will be if you neglect to do so. You will need 
a refuge when the tempest of God's judgments shall burst 
upon the wicked. Oh, then how glad you will be if you 
can say, as David said of his trust in God, "Thou art my 
hiding-place ; thou shalt preserve me from trouble ; thou 
shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance." 



* 



Tom's Trial. 



XT was a pleasant day in that particularly pleas- 
ant part of the summer time, which the boys 
call "vacation," when Tiger and Tom walked 
slowly down the street together. You may 
think it strange that I mention Tiger first, but I assure you 
Tom would not have been in the least offended by the 
preference. Indeed, he would have assured you that Tiger 
was a most wonderful dog, and knew as much as any two 
boys, though this might be called extravagant. 

Nearly a year ago, on Tom's birthday, Tiger arrived as 
a present from Tom's uncle, and as he leaped with a digni- 
fied bound from the wagon in which he made his journey, 
Tom looked for a moment into his great, wise eyes, and im- 
pulsively threw his arms around his shaggy neck. Tiger, 
on his part, was pleased with Tom's bright face, and most 
affectionately licked his smooth cheeks. So the league of 
friendship was complete in an hour. 

Tom had a pleasant, round face, and you might live with 
him a week, and think him one of the noblest, most gener- 
ous boys you ever knew. But some day you would prob- 
ably discover that he had a most violent temper. You 
would be frightened to see his face crimson with rage, as 
he stamped his feet, shook his little sister, spoke improperly 
to his mother, and above all, displeased his great Father in 
heaven. 

50 



TOM'S TRIAL. 



5i 



Now I am going to tell you of one great trial on this ac- 
count, which Tom never forgot to the end of his life. Ti- 
ger and Tom were walking down the street together, when 
they met Dick Casey, a school-fellow of Tom's. 

"O Dick!" cried Tom, "I'm going to father's grain 
store a little while. Let's go up in the loft and play." 

Dick had* just finished his work in his mother's garden, 
and was all ready for a little amusement. So the two went 
up together, and enjoyed themselves highly for a long time. 
But at last arose one of those trifling disputes, in which 
little boys are so apt to indulge. Pretty soon there were 
angry words, then (Oh, how sorry I am to say it!), Tom's 
wicked passions got the mastery of him, and he beat little 
Dick severely. Tiger, who must have been ashamed of his 
master, pulled hard at his coat, and whined piteously, but 
all in vain. At last Tom stopped, from mere exhaustion. 

" There, now ! " he cried, " which is right, you or I ? " 
. "I am," sobbed Dick, "and you tell a lie." 

Tom's face flushed crimson, and darting upon Dick, he 
gave him a sudden push. Alas ! he was near to the open 
door. Dick screamed, threw up his arms, and in a moment 
was gone. Tom's heart stood still, and an icy chill crept 
over him from head to foot. At first he could not stir ; 
then — he never knew how he got there, but he found him- 
self standing beside his little friend. Some men were rais- 
ing him carefully from the hard sidewalk. 

"Is he dead? " almost screamed Tom. 

"No," replied one, "we hope not. How did he fall 
out?" 

"He did n't fall," groaned Tom, who never could be so 
mean as to tell a lie, "I pushed him out." 



52 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" You pushed him, you wicked boy," cried a rough voice. 
" Do you know you ought to be sent to jail, and if he dies, 
maybe you'll be hung." 

Tom grew as white as Dick, whom he had followed into 
the store, and he heard all that passed as if in a dream. 

" Is he badly hurt ? " cried some one. 

"Only his hands," was the answer. "The rope saved 
him, he caught hold of the rope and slipped down ; but his 
hands are dreadfully torn — he has fainted from pain." 

Just then Tom's father came in, and soon understood 
the case. The look he gave at his unhappy son, so full of 
sorrow, not unmingled with pity, was too much for Tom, 
and he stole out, followed by the faithful Tiger. He wan- 
dered to the woods, and threw himself upon the ground. 
One hour ago he was a happy boy, and now what a terrible 
change ! What has made the difference ? Nothing but 
the indulgence of this wicked, violent temper. His mother 
had often warned him of the fearful consequences. She 
had told him that little boys who would not learn to govern 
themselves, grew up to b$ very wicked men, and often be- 
came murderers in some moment of passion. And now, 
Tom shuddered to think he was almost a murderer ! Noth- 
ing but God's great mercy in putting that rope in Dick's 
way, had saved him from carrying that load of sorrow and 
guilt all the rest of his life. But poor Dick, he might die 
yet — how pale he looked — how strange ! Tom fell upon 
his knees, and prayed God to "spare Dick's life," and from 
that time forth, with God's help, he promised that he would 
strive to conquer this wicked passion. 

Then, as he could no longer bear his terrible suspense, 



TOM'S TRIAL. 



53 



he started for Widow Casey's cottage. As he appeared at 
the humble door, Mrs. Casey angrily ordered him away, 
saying : " You have made a poor woman trouble enough for 
one day." But Dick's feeble voice entreated, "O mother, 
let him come in ; I was just as bad as he." 

Tom gave a cry of joy at hearing these welcome tones, 
and sprang hastily in. There sat poor Dick with his hands 
bound up, looking very pale, but Tom thanked God that he 
was alive. 

" I should like to know how I am to live now," sighed 
Mrs. Casey. "Who will weed the garden, and carry my 
vegetables to market ? I am afraid we shall suffer for 
bread before the summer is over," and she put her apron 
to her eyes. 

"Mrs. Casey," cried Tom, eagerly, "I will do every- 
thing that Dick did. I will sell the potatoes and beans, 
and will drive Mr. Brown's cows to pasture." 

Mrs. Casey shook her head incredulously, but Tom 
bravely kept his word. For the next few weeks Tom was 
at his post bright and early, and the garden was never kept 
in better order. And every morning Tiger and Tom stood 
faithfully in the market-place with their baskets, and never 
gave up, no matter how warm the day, till the last vegetable 
was sold, and the money placed faithfully in Mrs. Casey's 
hand. 

Tom's father often passed through the market, and gave 
his little son an encouraging smile, but he did not offer to 
help him out of his difficulty, for he knew if Tom struggled 
on alone, it w r ould be a lesson he would never forget. Al- 
ready he was becoming so gentle and patient, that every 



54 



SABBATH READINGS, 



one noticed the change, and his mother rejoiced over the 
sweet fruits of his repentance and self-sacrifice. 

After a few weeks the bandages were removed from 
Dick's hands, but they had been unskilfully treated, and 
were drawn up in very strange shapes. Mrs. Casey could 
not conceal her grief. "He will never be the help he was 
before," she said to Tom, "'he will never be like other boys, 
and he wrote such a fine hand, now he can no more make a 
letter than that little chicken in the garden/' 

"If we only had a great city doctor," said a neighbor, 
"he might have been all right. Even now his fingers might 
be helped if you should take him to Xew York." 

"Oh, I am too poor, too poor" said she, and burst into 
tears. 

"Tom could not bear it, and again rushed into the 
woods to think what could be done, for he had already given 
them all his quarter's allowance. All at once a thought 
flashed into his head, and he started as if he had been shot. 
Then he cried in great distress : — 

" Xo, no, anything but that, I can't do that!" 

Tiger gently licked his hands, and watched him with 
great concern. Now came a great struggle. Tom stroked 
him- backward and forward, and although he was a proud boy, 
he sobbed aloud. Tiger whined, licked his face, rushed off 
into dark corners, and barked savagely at some imaginary 
enemy, and then came back, and putting his paws on Tom's 
knees, wagged his tail in anxious sympathy. At last Tom 
took his hands from his pale, tear-stained face, and looking 
into the dog's great honest eyes, he cried with a queer 
shake of his voice : — 



TOM'S TRIAL. 55 

" Tiger, old fellow ! dear old dog, could you ever for- 
give me if I sold you ? " 

Then came another burst of sorrow, and Tom rose 
hastily, as if afraid to trust himself, and almost ran out of 
the woods. Over the fields he raced, with Tiger close at 
his heels, nor rested a moment till he stood at Major 
White's door, nearly two miles away. 

" Do you still want Tiger, sir? " 

"Why yes," said the old man in great surprise, " but 
do. you want to sell him ? " 

"Yes, please," gasped Tom, not daring to look at his 
old companion. The exchange was quickly made, and the 
ten dollars in Tom's hand. Tiger was beguiled into a barn, 
and the door hastily shut, and Tom was hurrying off, when 
he turned and cried in a choking voice — 

"You will be kind to him, Major White, won't you? 
Don't whip him, I never did, and he's the best dog — " 

"No, no, child," said Major White, kindly; "I'll treat 
him like a prince, and if you ever want to buy him back, 
you shall have him." Tom managed to falter, "Thank 
you," and almost flew out of hearing of Tiger's eager 
scratching on the barn door. 

I am making my story too long, and can only tell you 
in a few words that Tom's sacrifice was accepted. A friend 
took little Dick to the city free of expense, and Tom's 
money paid for the necessary operation. The poor crooked 
fingers were very much improved, and were soon almost as 
good as ever. And the whole village loved Tom for his 
brave, self-sacrificing spirit, and the noble atonement he 
had made for his moment of passion. 



56 



SABBATH READINGS. 



A few days after Dick's return came Tom's birthday, 
but he did not feel in his usual spirits. In spite of his 
great delight in Dick's recovery, he had so mourned over 
the matter, and had taken Tiger's loss so much to heart, 
that he had grown quite pale and thin. So, as he was per- 
mitted to spend the day as he pleased, he took his books 
and went to his favorite haunt in the woods. 

"How different from my last birthday/' thought Tom. 
"Then Tiger had just come, and I was so happy, though I 
didn't like him half so well as I do now." Tom sighed 
heavily ; then added more cheerfully, " Well, I hope some 
things are better than they were last year. I hope I have 
begun to conquer myself, and with God's help I will never 
give up trying while I live. Now if I could only earn 
money enough to buy back dear old Tiger." While Tom 
was busied with these thoughts he heard a hasty, familiar 
trot, a quick bark of joy, and the brave old dog sprang into 
Tom's arms. 

"Tiger, old fellow," cried Tom, trying to look fierce, 
though he could scarcely keep down the tears, "how came 
you to run away, sir ? " 

Tiger responded by picking up a letter he had dropped 
in his first joy, and laying it in Tom's hand: — 

" My Dear Child : Tiger is pining, and I must give 
him a change of air. I wish him to have a good master, 
and knowing that the best ones are those who have learned 
to govern themselves, I send him to you. Will you take 
care of him and greatly oblige 

"Your old friend, Major White." 

Tom then read through a mist of tears — 



TOM'S TRIAL. 



"P. S. I know the whole story. Dear young friend, 
'Be not weary in well-doing.' " 



LOVING AND FORGIVING. 

O loving and forgiving, 

Ye angel-words of earth, 
years were not worth the living 

If ye too had not birth ! 
O loving and forbearing, 

How sweet your mission here ; 
The grief that ye are sharing 

Hath blessings in its tears. 

O stern and unforgiving, 

Ye evil words of life, 
That mock the means of living, 

With never ending strife. 
O harsh and unpretending, 

How would ye meet the grave, 
If Heaven as unrelenting, 

Forbore not, nor forgave ! 



The Premium 



X THINK I am sure of one premium at least," 
said Edward, as he placed himself upon the 
form among his school-fellows. 
It was examination day, and many a young 
heart was beating quick with the hope of approbation and 
reward, or with the fear of disgrace. Some had looked 
forward to this day, and applied to their tasks, knowing how 
carefully they should be examined, and commended or pun- 
ished according to their deservings. Others had chosen to 
forget that such a day must come, and idled away the time 
which they would now have given a great deal to have at 
their disposal again. 

In the center of the schoolroom was placed a long 
table, covered with books of various sizes and of different 
value. There were Bibles and Testaments, both large and 
small, the histories of Rome, of Greece, and of England. 
There were volumes elegantly bound and pamphlets just 
stitched together. The school was extensive, and it was 
wished that every one who had exerted himself to the best 
of his ability, however little that might be, should carry 
home with him some mark of encouragement, to remind 
him that diligence and perseverance were not overlooked. 

Like the servants to whom the Lord entrusted the tal- 
ents, some had five, and some had but one, yet these last 
could not be excused for hiding and neglecting it because 
58 



THE PREMIUM. 



59 



it was small ; even the youngest and the simplest child at 
school may make something of the reason and opportunities 
which the Lord has given him to improve. 

With anxious hearts and busy faces the boys arranged 
themselves around the table ; and were examined with great 
care and patience by their teachers, as to the progress they 
had made in their studies. 

Now, Edward had set his heart on one particular pre- 
mium, the Roman History, neatly bound, and making two 
very pretty volumes, which he thought would handsomely 
fill up a vacant space on his little book-shelves. He 
allowed himself to think of this until no other prize was of 
any value in his sight, a great fault, often committed by 
children, and grown people, too ; who instead of thankfully 
receiving whatever the bounty of Providence assigns them, 
would choose for themselves ; and become discontented 
and unhappy in the midst of blessings, because the wisdom 
of God sees fit to withhold some one thing that their folly 
deems necessary to their happiness. 

Edward passed his examination with much credit, and 
one of the first premiums was adjudged to him ; but instead 
of the Roman History, a very neat Bible, in excellent large 
type, was placed in his hands. Many of his schoolmates 
had wished for that Bible, but Edward regarded it not ; and 
the eyes of the foolish boy filled with tears, as he saw the 
elegant history of Rome presented to another, who, per- 
haps, would gladly have exchanged with him. 

The next day Edward returned home and related his 
disappointment to his parents, who thought his desire for 
the Roman History a mark of great learning and taste ; 



60 SABBATH READINGS. 

but since he had distinguished himself so well they did not 
much care what prize he received. 

Edward's father lived in the country, not far from the 
seaside, in a most delightful and healthy situation ; and at 
this time his mother's brother, who was in a very sickly 
state, had just arrived there to enjoy the benefit of the sea- 
breezes, and rest a little from the toil and bustle of his em- 
ployments in London. 

Mr. Lewis was a young man of the most pleasing man- 
ners and appearance. He was very gentle and serious, but 
not at all gloomy or severe. His bad health only served 
to show forth his patience in enduring it without a mur- 
muring word or discontented look ; and Edward, who was 
really a kind-hearted and affectionate boy, soon became 
very much attached to his uncle, who had not seen him 
since he was an infant, and who was much pleased at the 
attentions his nephew delighted to pay him. 

Young hearts are soon won ; and it was only three 
days after Edward's return from school, that he went 
bounding over the grounds in search of his uncle, whose 
society he already preferred to his hoop and ball. 

Mr. Lewis was seated under a fine old oak-tree, the 
high and knotted roots of which served as a seat ; while 
the soft moss, interspersed with many delicate little flowers, 
was like a carpet beneath his feet. A rich and extensive 
tract of country lay spread before his eyes ; and, at a dis- 
tance the mighty ocean bounded the prospect, whose deep 
green waters were seen in beautiful contrast with the pale 
yellow cliff, that with a graceful, yet abrupt curve, inter- 
rupted the view to the right. Thin clouds were floating 



THE PREMIUM. 



61 



past the sun every now and then, and threw all the varie- 
ties of light and shade upon the lovely scene below. 

Mr. Lewis had a book in his hand, into which he fre- 
quently looked, and then raised his eyes again to gaze upon 
the varieties that surrounded him ; and so intent he seemed, 
that Edward doubted whether he ought to disturb him, 
until his uncle, seeing him at some little distance, kindly 
beckoned him to come near. 

" Is not this a pretty place, uncle ? " said Edward, as 
he seated himself beside him ; " and do you not find the 
breeze from the water very refreshing ? " 

"It is beautiful indeed, my dear boy ; and I am deriv- 
ing both refreshment and instruction while I look around 
me." 

" Is that a Bible, uncle ? " 

" Yes. It is God's word, which I always find the best 
commentary upon his works ; they explain each other." 

" I love the Bible too, uncle," said Edward, " and I got 
much credit for my answering on Scripture questions last 
half-year." 

" And which, Edward, afforded you the greater satis- 
faction, the Scriptures, or the credit you got for studying 
them?" 

Edward looked a little embarrassed and did not imme- 
diately reply. 

" It is quite right to take pleasure in the well-earned 
approbation of your teachers," continued Mr. Lewis, " and 
I was glad to hear that you obtained a premium at the last 
examination also." 

" Yes, uncle, but not the prize I wished for. There 



62 SABBATH READINGS. 



was a Roman History that I should have liked better, and 
it was just of equal value with the Bible that I got." 
" How of equal value, Edward ? " 

" I mean that it was not reckoned a higher prize, and 
it would have been a nicer book for me." 

" Then you had a Bible already ? " 

" Why, no, uncle, not of my own, but it is easy to bor- 
row one on the Sabbath ; and I had gone through all my 
Scripture proofs, and do not want it on other days." 

" Read these four verses for me," said Mr. Lewis, 
pointing to the sixth chapter of Deuteronomy " commencing 
with the sixth verse." 

Edward read : " And these words which I command 
thee this day, shall be m thine heart ; and thou shalt teach 
them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them 
when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest 
by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest 
up ; and thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, 
and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes, and thou 
shalt write them upon the posts of thine house, and on thy 
gates." 

" To whom was this command given, Edward ? " 
"To the Jews, uncle." 

" Yes ; and the word of God, which cannot pass away, 
is as much binding on us as on them, in everything except- 
ing the sacrifices and ceremonies, which foreshowed the 
coming of the Lord Jesus Christ, and which were done away 
with, by his death's fulfilling all those types and shadows." 

"Then," said Edward, "we are commanded to write 
the Bible on our hands and on our door-posts." 



THE PREMIUM. 



63 



"No, my dear boy, not literally, but in a figure of 
speech ; as the Lord, when declaring he never will forget 
Zion, says, 'I have graven thee upon the palms of my 
hands ; thy walls are continually before me.' The mean- 
ing of the passage you first read is that we must have the 
word of God as continually present to our minds as anything 
written on our hands, and on every object around us, would 
be to our bodily sight. And how are we to get our thoughts 
so occupied by it, Edward ? " 

"By continually reading it, I suppose," replied Edward, 
rather sullenly. 

"By reading it often, and meditating on it much," said 
his uncle ; " and that we can do without interfering with 
our other business. Without prayer you cannot obtain any- 
spiritual blessing, nor maintain any communion with God ; 
and without reading the Scriptures you will have but little 
desire to pray. We are like people wandering in the dark, 
while the Bible is as a bright lamp held out to direct us in 
the only safe path. You cannot be a child of God if you 
do not his will ; you cannot do it unless you know it, and 
it is by the Bible he is pleased to communicate that knowl- 
edge. Do you begin to see, Edward, that the Bible is 
more suitable to be an every-day book than your profane 
history ? " 

" Why, yes, uncle ; but the Bible is a grave book, and 
if I read it so constantly I never should be merry." 

"There is no merriment among the lost, Edward; and 
that dreadful lot will be your portion if you neglect the 
great salvation which the Scriptures set forth. Besides, 
there is no foundation for what you suppose to be the effect 



64 



SABBATH READINGS. 



of reading the Bible. I have known people naturally mel- 
ancholy and discontented, to become cheerful and happy by 
studying it ; but I never in my life saw an instance of a 
person's becoming unhappy because he had a good hope of 
going to heaven. " 

Edward paused a moment, and then said, " Uncle, I re- 
member it is written concerning wisdom, that < her ways are 
ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace/ " 

" Most true, my dear boy, f quietness and assurance for- 
ever ' is the portion of God's people. 1 Rejoice in the Lord 
alway, and again I say, rejoice.' 'The ransomed of the 
Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and ever- 
lasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and 
gladness ; and sorrow and sighing shall flee away/ Are 
such expressions as these likely to make us gloomy, 
Edward?" 

" O, no, uncle ; and I often wonder that you, who suffer 
so much pain, and read the Bible constantly, are not mel- 
ancholy." 

" How can I be melancholy, Edw T ard, when the Bible 
tells me that all these things are working together for my 
spiritual good ? that He who spared not his own Son, but 
delivered him up for us all, will with him also freely give 
us all things ? When I think of what my sins deserve, and 
see the Lamb of God bearing the chastisement that should 
fall on me, how can I be melancholy ? When I feel that 
the Spirit of God is bringing these things to my remem- 
brance, and enabling me to love the Lord Jesus, who has 
done so much for me, must I not rejoice ? I know that in 
me, that is, in my flesh, dwelleth no good thing ; and since 



THE PREMIUM. 



65 



God has promised forgiveness to all who seek that blessing 
through his Son ; and since I feel assured that I have 
sought that blessing, and feel peace and joy in believing, 
surely the song of praise, not the moan of lamentation, be- 
comes me. Yet I do lament, Edward, daily lament, my 
many offenses against God ; but I am assured that Christ's 
blood cleanseth from all sin, and that -in him I have a pow- 
erful and all-prevailing Advocate with the Father. I know 
in whom I have believed, and that he will never cast off nor 
forsake me. I am sinking into the grave, but I do not 
shrink from that prospect, because the bitterness of death 
is taken away by my Saviour, who died for my sins, and 
rose again for my justification ; and though this body re- 
turns to dust, I shall live again, and enter into the presence 
of my Redeemer, and rejoice there evermore." 

Edward looked at the animated countenance of his 
uncle, and then cast down his eyes ; they were full of tears. 
At last he said, " Uncle, indeed I am a very sinful boy, 
neglecting the Bible, because I know it would show me my 
sin, and the consequences of it. But I will trifle no more 
with God's displeasure. I will get that precious Bible, 
worth a thousand Roman histories, and I will read it daily, 
with prayer, that I may be wise unto salvation." 

Mr. Lewis did not live long after this. He died, rejoic- 
ing in hope of eternal life ; and as often as Edward was 
permitted to return home from his school, he was to be 
seen under the old oak, with the Bible in his hand, from 
which he learned more and more the will of his God and 
Saviour — the utter sinfulness of his own nature — his in- 
ability to help himself ; and from this holy word he learned 

5 



66 



SABBATH READINGS. 



to place all his dependence on the righteousness of his 
Saviour — to follow the example of his Saviour, in prayer, 
in resignation, and in doing good to the poor around him. 

He often thought of his dear uncle, and counted that 
day happy when he sat to listen to his kind advice, which, 
as a means, brought him to a knowledge of himself and of 
his heavenly Father. 



A Kind Word. 



Within each soul the God above 
Plants the rich jewel, — human love. 
The fairest gem that graces youth 
Is love's companion, — fearless truth. 




TLLIAM and Henry were clerks in a large 
I wholesale establishment. They met one morn- 
ing on their way to the store and proceeded to- 
gether. After talking awhile on various sub- 



jects, the following dialogue took place : — 

"By the way, William/' said Henry, " I understand you 

were last evening at 's," naming a fashionable billiard 

saloon. 

"A mistake, Henry. I was never in a billiard saloon." 
"Well, I thought it very strange when I heard it." 
"Why so?" 

"Why?" said Henry in astonishment. "Why, because 
you are a religious young man and a church member." 

" Do you ever visit such places, Henry ? " 

" Oh, yes ; but that is quite a different matter. I do n't 
profess to be a Christian, you know." 

" You would think it wrong for me to be there ? " 

" Of course I should." 

"And right for you ? " 

"Well, yes ; there's no harm in my being there." 
"#7y/not?" 

67 



68 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"Why, because — because I do not profess to be bound 
by the same obligations that you are." 

"And who has released you from those same obligations 
and imposed them upon me ?" 

" Oh, well, now, there* s no use in talking, William ; you 
know that Christians do not and ought not to engage in 
what they consider pernicious amusements. " 

" I certainly do know that they ought not ; but I wish 
to know why it is wrong for them and right for others." 

"You know the fact that it is so." 

" No, I do not know that it is ; and I wish to call your 
attention to the truth that the obligation to refrain from 
evil rests upon every rational human being in a Christian 
land, for God has commanded all men to love and obey him \ 
also, to the fact that the difference between the Christian 
and the sinner is that one acknowledges the obligation, 
while the other denies it ; and that the denial does not re- 
move the obligation. God has not invited you to love him 
if you prefer to do so ; but he has absolutely commanded 
you and me to love and obey him, I have the right, if you 
have, to engage in any kind of amusement, and to follow 
my inclinations in all things ; and it is your duty, equally 
with mine, to honor our Master's law by shunning every 
wicked way. Think of this, friend Henry, I entreat you, 
and acknowledge the responsibility which you cannot re- 
move ; and from which, after accepting, you will not desire 
to be released." 

They had arrived at the store, and each went to his 
own department. These young men had entered the em- 
ployment of A. B. & Sons at the same time, about two 



A KIND WORD. 



69 



years before the above conversation occurred. William had 
gained the confidence of his employers, and had risen in 
position. The senior partner intended retiring from busi- 
ness, and was looking about for a Christian young man of 
ability and energy to propose as a partner for his sons ; and 
had lately been thinking of William as a suitable person. 
He had observed him closely, and thought he saw in him 
the habits and qualifications necessary to make a success- 
ful business man. 

He had also been watching Henry's course. He had 
heard of him at places where a young man w T ho aspires to 
positions of truth and honor will never be seen, and was 
about proposing his discharge to the other members of the 
firm. He knew that a clerk whose style of living requires 
more money than his salary gives him will be very likely, 
indeed almost sure, to resort to dishonest practices to make 
up the deficiency. Instances of this kind are every day 
occurring in our cities ; and as long as we meet, as we may 
every morning and evening in the Broadway stages, dainty 
looking young men, dressed in finer and fresher broadcloth 
than their employers wear, with heavy gold chains, fine 
chronometers, and diamond pins and rings, we may expect 
to hear of a great many more. 

That morning's conversation made a deep impression 
upon Henry's mind. The subject had never been presented 
to him in that light before. He had imagined, as young- 
persons are apt to suppose, that no moral responsibility 
rested upon him till he assumed it publicly by uniting with 
the church. Henry did not mean to die a sinner. Oh, no ; 
he fully intended, after he had enjoyed what he considered 



70 



SABBATH READINGS 



the pleasures of youth, to settle down into Christian man- 
hood. After this talk with William he could not get rid of 
the idea of accountability to his God. His wicked amuse- 
ments and extravagant habits appeared to him as they 
never had done before, and he began to see their inevitable 
tendency. The result was an entire change in his aims and 
conduct. This was so marked that it very soon became 
known to all of his associates, and, of course, to his em- 
ployers. 

He remained in that house; gradually rising to the 
highest clerkship, and, finally, becoming the junior partner 
of the firm of which William had for some time been a 
member. His happiness and prosperity he always attrib- 
uted to the word kindly spoken at the right time by his fel- 
low clerk. He has been successful not only as a merchant, 
but as a Christian, exerting a powerful influence for good 
upon all about him, but particularly upon the young men 
employed in his house. 



ANOTHER COMMANDMENT 



honest couple thought that religion in that part consisted 
in making parade, and therefore the parlor was put in order, 
a nice fire was made, and the kitchen replenished with cake, 
chickens, and every delicacy, preparatory to cooking. 
While Mr. W. was out at the wood-pile, a plain-looking, 
coarsely dressed, but quiet-like pedestrian, came along and 
asked the distance to the next town. He was told it was 
three miles. Being very cold, he asked permission to en- 
ter and warm himself. Assent was given very grudgingly, 
and both went into the kitchen. The wife looked daggers 
at this untimely intrusion, for the stranger had on cowhide 
boots, an old hat, and a threadbare, but neatly patched 
coat. At length she gave him a chair beside the Dutch 
oven which was baking nice cakes for the presiding elder, 
who was momentarily expected, as he was to preach the 
next day at the church a mile or two beyond. 





NEW presiding elder, Mr. N., was expected in 
the district ; and as all the ministers stopped 
with Brother W. and his wife, every preparation 
was made to give him a cordial reception. The 



72 



SABBATH READINGS. 



The stranger, after warming himself, prepared to leave, 
but the weather became inclement, and as his appetite was 
aroused by the viands about the fire, he asked for some little 
refreshment ere he set out for a cold walk to the - town be- 
yond. Mrs. W. was displeased, but on consultation with 
her husband, cold bacon and bread were set out on an old 
table, and he was somewhat gruffly told to eat. It was 
growing dark, and hints were thrown out that the stranger 
had better depart, as it was three long miles to town. 

The homely meal was at last concluded — the man 
thanked him kindly for the hospitality he had received, and 
opened the door to go. But it was quite dark and the 
clouds denoting a storm filled the heavens. 

" You say it is full. three miles to D ?" 

"I do," said Mr. W. coldly. "I said so when you first 
stopped, and you ought to have pushed on, like a prudent 
man. You could have reached there before it was quite 
dark." 

" But I was cold and hungry, and might have fainted 
•by the way." 

His manner of saying this touched the farmer's feel- 
ings a little. 

" You have warmed and fed me, for which I am thank- 
ful. Will you now bestow another act of kindness upon 
one in a strange place, who if he goes out into the darkness, 
may lose himself and perish in the cold ? " 

The particular form in which this request was made, 
and the tone in which it was uttered, put it out of the farmer's 
heart to say no. 

" Go in there and sit down," he answered, pointing to 



ANOTHER COMMANDMENT. 



73 



the kitchen, " and I will see my wife and hear what she 
says." 

And Mr. W. went into the parlor where the supper 
table stood, covered with snow-white cloth, and displaying 
his wife's set of blue-sprigged china, that was brought out 
only on special occasions. 

The tall mold candles were burning thereon, and on 
the hearth blazed a cheerful fire. 

" Has n't that old fellow gone yet?" asked Mrs. W. 
She heard his voice as he returned from the door. 

" No, and what do you suppose, he wants us to let him 
stay all night." 

" Indeed, we will do no such thing. We cannot have 
the like;? of him in the house now. Where could he sleep ? " 

"Not in the best room, even if Mr. N. did not come." 

"No, indeed ! " 

"But really I don't see, Jane, how we can turn him 
out of doors. He doesn't look like a strong man, and it's 
full three miles to D ." 

" It's too much ; he ought to have gone on while he 
had daylight, and not lingered here, as he did, till it got 
dark." 

"We can't turn him out of doors, Jane, and it's no use 
to think of it. He'll have to stay somehow." 

" But what can we do with him ? " 

" He seems like a decent man at least ; and does n't look 
as if he had anything bad about him. We might make a 
bed on the floor." 

When Mr. W. returned to the kitchen, where the 
stranger had seated himself before the fire, he informed 



74 



SABBATH READINGS. 



him that he had decided to let him stay all night. The 
man expressed in few words his grateful sense of their kind- 
ness, and then became silent and thoughtful. Soon after 
the farmer's wife, giving up all hope of Mr. N.'s arrival, 
had supper taken up, which consisted of coffee, warm short- 
cake, and broiled chicken. After all was on the table, a 
short conference was held as to whether it would do not to 
invite the stranger to take supper. It was true they had 
given him as much bread and bacon as he could eat, but 
then, as long as he was going to stay all night, it looked too 
inhospitable to sit down to the table and not ask him to join 
them. So, making a virtue of necessity, he was kindly 
asked to come to supper — an invitation which he did not 
decline. Grace was said over the meal by Mr. W., and the 
coffee poured, and the bread helped, and the meat carved. 

There was a fine little boy, six years old, at the table, 
who had been brightened up and dressed in his best, in or- 
der to grace the minister's reception. Charles was full of 
talk, and the parents felt a mutual pride in showing him 
off, even before their humble guest, who noticed him par- 
ticularly, though he had not much to say. "Come, 
Charley," said Mr. W., after the meal was over, and he sat 
leaning in his chair, " can't you repeat the pretty hymn 
mamma taught you last Sabbath ? " 

Charley started off without any further invitation, and 
repeated very accurately two or three verses of a camp- 
meeting hymn, that was then popular. 

" Now let us hear you say the commandments, Charley," 
spoke up the mother, well pleased with her son's perform- 
ance. 



ANOTHER COMMANDMENT. 



75 



And Charley repeated them with a little prompting. 
" How many commandments are there ?" asked the 
father. 

The child hesitated, and then looking at the stranger, 
near whom he sat, said innocently : — 
" How many are there ? " 

The man thought for some moments, and said, as if in 
doubt, 

" Eleven, are there not ? " 

" Eleven ! " ejaculated Mrs. W. in unfeigned surprise. 

" Eleven ?" said her husband w T ith more rebuke than 
astonishment in his voice. "Is it possible, sir, that you do 
not know how many commandments there are? How 
many are there, Charley ? Come, tell me — you know, of 
course." 

"Ten," replied the child. 

" Right, my son," returned Mr. W., looking with a 
smile of approval on the child. " Right, there is n't a child 
of his age in ten miles who can't tell you there are ten 
commandm en t s . " 

"Did you ever read the Bible, sir?" addressing the 
stranger. 

" When I w r as a boy I used to read it sometimes. But 
I am sure I thought that there were eleven commandments. 
Are you not mistaken about there being ten? " 

Sister W. lifted her hands in unfeigned astonishment, 
and exclaimed : — 

"Could any one believe it? such ignorance of the 
Bible!" 

Mr. W. did not reply, but rose, and going to the cor- 



7 6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



ner of the room where the good book lay upon the stand, 
he put it on the table before him, and opened to that por- 
tion in which the commandments are recorded. 

"There," he said, placing his finger upon the proof of 
the stranger's error, "There, look for yourself." 

The man came around from his side of the table and 
looked over the stranger's shoulder. 

"There, do'ye see?" 

"Yes, it does say so," replied the man, "and yet it 
seems to me there are eleven. I'm sure I always thought 
so." 

"Doesn't it say ten here?" inquired Mr. W, with 

marked impatience in his voice. 
"It does, certainly." 

" Well, what more do you want ? Can't you believe the 
Bible?" 

" Oh, yes, I believe the Bible ; and yet it strikes me 
somehow that there must be eleven commandments. Has n't 
one been added somewhere else ? " 

Now this was too much for Brother and Sister W. to 
bear. Such ignorance of sacred matters they felt to be un- 
pardonable. A long lecture followed, in which the man 
was scolded, admonished, and threatened w r ith divine indig- 
nation. At its close he modestly asked if he might have 
the Bible to read for an hour or two before retiring for the 
night. This request was granted with more pleasure than 
any of the preceding ones. 

Shortly after supper the man was conducted to the little 
spare room, accompanied by the Bible. Before leaving him 
alone, Mr. W. felt it to be his duty to exhort him to spirit- 





Copy? 



Christ Blessixg Little Children, 



ANOTHER COMMANDMENT. 77 



ual things, and he did so most earnestly for ten or fifteen 
minutes. But he could not see that his words made much 
impression, and he finally left his guest, lamenting his ob- 
duracy and ignorance. 

In the morning he came down, and meeting Mr. W., 
asked if he would be so kind as to lend him a razor, that he 
might remove his beard, which did not give his face a very 
attractive appearance. His request was complied with. 

"We will have prayers in about ten minutes/' said Mr. 
W., as he handed him the razor and shaving box. 

The man appeared and behaved with due propriety at 
family worship. After breakfast he thanked the farmer 
and his wife for their hospitality, and parting went on his 
journey. 

Ten o'clock came, but Mr. N. had not arrived. So Mr. 
and Mrs. W. started for the meeting-house, not doubting 
they would find him there. But they were disappointed. 
A goodly number of people were inside the meeting-house, 
and a goodly number outside, but the minister had not ar- 
rived. 

"Where is Mr. N ? " inquired a dozen voices, as a 

crowd gathered around the farmer. 

" He hasn't come yet. Something has detained him. 
But I still look for him — indeed, I fully expected to find 
him here." 

The day was cold, and Mr. W., after becoming thor- 
oughly chilled, concluded to keep a good lookout for the 
minister from the window near which he usually sat. Oth- 
ers, from the same cause, followed his example, and the lit- 
tle meeting-house was soon filled, and one after another 



78 



SABBATH READINGS. 



came dropping in. The farmer, who turned towards the 
door each time it was opened, was a little surprised to see 
his guest of the previous evening enter, and come slowly 
down the aisle, looking on either side, as if searching for a 
vacant seat, very few of which were now left. Still advanc- 
ing, he finally got within the little enclosed altar, and as- 
cended to the pulpit, took off his old grey overcoat and sat 
down. 

By this time Mr. W. was by his side, and had his hand 
upon his arm. 

" You must n't sit here. Come down and I will show 
you a seat," he said, in an excited tone. 

"Thank you," replied the man in a composed voice. 
"It is very comfortable here." And the man remained im- 
movable. 

Mr. W., feeling embarrassed, went down, intending to 
get a brother "official " to assist him in making a forcible 
ejection of the man from the place he was desecrating. 
Immediately upon his doing so, however, the man rose, and 
standing up at the desk, opened the hymn-book. His voice 
thrilled to the finger ends of Brother W. as in a distinct 
and impressive manner he gave out the hymn beginning : 

" Help us to help each other, Lord, 
Each other's cross to bear; 
Let each his friendly aid afford, 
And feel a brother's care." 

The congregation rose, after the stranger had read the 
entire hymn, and had repeated the first two lines for them 
to sing. Brother W. usually started the tunes. He tried 
this time, but went off on a long meter tune. Discovering 



ANOTHER COMMANDMENT. 79 



his mistake at the second word, he balked and tried it again, 
but now he stumbled on short meter. A musical brother 
came to his aid and led off with a tune that suited the meas- 
ure in which the hymn was written. After singing, the 
congregation knelt, and the minister — for no one doubted 
his real character — addressed the throne of grace with 
much fervor and eloquence. The reading of a chapter in 
the Bible succeeded. Then there was a deep pause through- 
out the room in anticipation of the text, which the preacher 
prepared to announce. 

The dropping of a pin might have been heard. Then 
the fine, emphatic tones of the preacher filled the room : — 

"A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one 
another!' 

Brother W. had bent forward to listen, but now he sunk 
back in his seat. This was the eleventh commandment. 

The sermon was deep, searching, yet affectionate and 
impressive. The preacher uttered nothing that could in 
the least wound the brother and sister of whose hospitality 
he had partaken, but he said much that smote upon their 
hearts, and made them painfully conscious that they had 
not shown as much kindness to the stranger as he had been 
entitled to receive on # the broad principles of humanity. 
But they suffered more from mortification of feeling. To 
think that they had treated the presiding elder of the dis- 
trict after such a fashion was deeply humiliating ; and the 
idea of the whole affair getting abroad interfered sadly with 
their devotional feelings throughout the whole period of 
service. 

At last the sermon was over, the ordinance administered 



8o 



SABBATH READINGS. 



and the benediction pronounced. Brother W. did not know 
what was best for him to do. He never was more at a loss 
in his life. Then Mr. N. descended from the pulpit; but 
he did not step forward to meet him. How could he do 
that ? Others gathered around him, but still he lingered 
and held back. 

" Where is Brother W.? " he at length heard asked. It 
was the voice of the minister. 

"Here he is," said one or two, opening the way to 
where the farmer stood. 

The preacher advanced, and catching his hand, said : — 

€€ How do you do, Brother W., I am glad to see you. 
And where is Sister W.?" 

Sister W. was brought forward, and the preacher shook 
hands with them heartily, while his face was lit up with 
smiles. 

"I believe I am to find a home with you," he said, as 
if it was settled. 

Before the still embarrassed brother and sister could 
make reply, some one asked : — ■ 

" How came you to be detained so late ? You were ex- 
pected last night. And where is Brother R.?" 

"Brother R. is sick," replied Mr. N., "and I had to 
come alone. Five miles from this my horse gave out, and 
I had to come the rest of the way on foot. But I became 
so cold and weary, that I found it necessary to ask a farmer 
not far from here, to give me a night's lodging, which he 
was kind enough to do. I thought I was still three miles 
off, but it happened that I was very much nearer my jour- 
ney's end than I supposed." 



THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 81 



This explanation was satisfactory to all parties, and in 
due time the congregation dispersed, and the presiding elder 
went home with Brother and Sister W. 



THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 
I 

Thou shalt have no other gods before me. 
II 

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or 
any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is 
in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth : 
thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them : 
for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity 
of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth 
generation of them that hate me ; and showing mercy unto 
thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments, 

III 

Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in 
vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his 
name in vain. 

IV 

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days 
shalt thou labor, and do all thy work ; but the seventh day is 
the Sabbath of the Lord thy God : in it thou shalt not do any 
work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, 
nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is 
within thy gates : for in six days the Lord made heaven and 
earth, the sea., and all that in them is, and rested the seventh 
day: wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day, and hal- 
lowed it. 

6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



v 

Honor thy father and thy mother : that thy days may 
be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. 

VI 

Thou shalt not kill. 

VII 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 
VIII 

Thou shalt not steal. 
IX 

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. 

X 

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt 
not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his 
maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy 
neighbor's. 



Make If Plain. 



ON the sixteenth day after the battle of Gettys- 
burg, I entered the room where a young 
wounded colonel was apparently near to death. 
As I entered, he was roused from his stupor 
and beckoned me to his bedside, and threw his feeble arms 
around my neck. 

" O my father, how glad I am to see you. I was afraid 
you would not come till it was too late. I am too feeble 
to say much, though I have a great many things to say to 
you; you must do all the talking. Tell me all about dear 
mother and sister." 

I soon perceived by the appearance of those in the 
house, that there was no hope entertained of his recovery. 
But as I could no longer endure the agony of suspense, I 
at last inquired of the doctor, " Doctor, what do you think 
of my son's case? " 

"Entirely hopeless." 

" But is there nothing more that can be done to save 
him?" 

" No, sir. Every thing that human skill and kindness 
can do has been done. Your son has been a brave and 
very successful officer ; has been a great favorite in the 
army ; has won the highest esteem of all who have known 
him, but he now must die. Immediately after the amputa- 
tion the gangrene set in, and defies all efforts to arrest it." 

83 



84 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" Well, Doctor, how long do you think he can live ? " 

" Not more than four days. He may drop away at any 
hour. We are constantly fearing that an artery will give 
way, and then it is all over with the colonel. What you 
wish to do in reference to his death, you had better do at 
once." 

" Have you, or has any one, told him of his real condi- 
tion ?" 

" No. We have left that painful duty for you to do, as 
we have been expecting your arrival for several days." 

As I entered the room with the dreadful message of 
death pressing on my heart, the eyes of my son fastened 
on me. 

" Come, sit by my side, father. Have you been talking 
with the doctor about me ? " 
" Yes." 

" What did he tell you ? Does he think I shall re- 
cover?" 

There was a painful hesitation for a moment. 

" Don't be afraid to tell me just what he said." 

" He told me you must die." 

" How long does he think I can live ? " 

" Not to exceed four days, and that you may drop away 
any hour, — that an artery may slough at any moment which 
you cannot survive." 

With great agitation he exclaimed, 

"Father, is that so? Then I must die! I cannot. I 
must not die ! Oh ! I am not prepared to die now. Do 
tell me how I can get ready ? Make it so plain that I can 
get hold of it. Tell me, in a few words, if you can, so that 



MAKE IT PLAIN. 



«5 



I can see it plainly. I know you can, father, for I used to 
hear you explain it to others." 

'T was no time now for tears, but for calmness and light, 
by which to lead the soul to Christ, and both were given, 

" My son, I see you are afraid to die." 

"Yes, I am." 

"Well, I suppose you feel guilty." 
" Yes, that is it. I have been a wicked young man, 
You know how it is in the army." 

" You want to be forgiven, don't you ? " 

"Oh, yes ! That is what I want. Can I be, father?" 

" Certainly." 

" Can I know it before I die ? " 
" Certainly." 

"Well now, father, make it so plain that I can get hold 
of it." 

At once, an incident which occurred during the school 
days of my son, came to my mind. I had not thought of 
it before for several years. Now it came back to me, fresh 
with its interest, and just what was wanted to guide the 
agitated heart of this young inquirer to Jesus. 

" Do you remember while at school in you came 

home one day, and I having occasion to rebuke you, you 
became very angry and abused me with harsh language ? " 

" Yes, father, I was thinking it all over a few days ago, 
as I thought of your coming to see me, and felt so bad 
about it, that I wanted to see you, and once more ask you 
to forgive me." 

" Do you remember, how, after the paroxysm of your 
anger had subsided, you came in, and threw your arms 



86 



SABBATH READINGS. 



around my neck, and said, ' My dear father, I am sorry I 
abused you so. It was not your loving son that did it. I 
was very angry. Won't you forgive me ? ' " 

u Yes, I remember it very distinctly.'' 

" Do you remember what I said to you as you wept 
upon my neck ? " 

"Very well. You said, t I forgive you with all my 
heart,' and kissed me. I shall never forget those words." 

u Did you believe me ? " 

" Certainly. I never doubted your word." 

" Did you then feel happy again ? " 

" Yes, perfectly ; and since that time I have loved you 
more than ever before. I shall never forget how it relieved 
me when you looked upon me so kindly, and said, ' I forgive 
you with all my heart/ " 

" Well, now, this is just the way to come to Jesus. Tell 
him you are sorry just as you told me, and ten thousand 
times quicker than a father's love forgave you, will he for- 
give you. He says he will. Then you must take his word 
for it, just as you did mine." 

" Why, father, is this the way to become a Christian ? " 

"I don't know of any other." 

"Why, father, I can get hold of this. I am so glad 
you have come to tell me how." 

He turned his head upon his pillow for rest. I sank 
into my chair and wept freely, for my heart could no longer 
suppress its emotions. I had done my work, and committed 
the case to Christ. He, too, I was soon assured had done 
his. The broken heart had made its confession, had heard 
what it longed for, "I forgive you/' and believed it. It 



MAKE IT PLAIN. 



87 



was but a few moments of silence, but the new creation had 
taken place, the broken, heart had made its short, simple 
prayer, and believed, and the new heart had been given. A 
soul had passed out from nature's darkness into marvelous 
light, and from the power of sin and Satan unto God. 

I soon felt the nervous hand on my head, and heard the 
word "father/' in such a tone of tenderness and joy, that I 
knew the change had come. 

" Father, my dear father, I do n't want you to weep any 
more, you need not. I am perfectly happy now. Jesus 
has forgiven me. I know he has, for he says so, and I take 
his word for it, just as I did yours. Wipe your tears. I 
am not afraid to die now. If it is God's will, I should like 
to live to serve my country, and take care of you and 
mother, but if I must die, I am not afraid to now, Jesus 
has forgiven me. Come, father, let us sing,— 

" 4 When I can read my title clear,' " 

And we did sing. 

" Now, father, I want you should pray, and I will follow 
you." 

We did pray, and Jesus heard us. 

u Father, I am very happy. Why, I believe I shall get 
well. I feel much better." 

From that hour all his symptoms changed — pulse went 
down, and countenance brightened. The current of life 
had changed. 

The doctor soon came in and found him cheerful and 
happy — looked at him — felt his pulse, which he had been 
watching with intense anxiety, and said,— 

"Why, Colonel, you look better." 



88 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"I am better, Doctor. I am going to get well. My 
father has told me how to become a Christian, and I am 
very happy. I believe I shall recover, for God has heard 
my prayer. Doctor, I want you should become a Christian, 
too. My father can tell you how to get hold of it." 

In the evening three surgeons were in consultation, but 
saw no hope in the case, and one of them took his final 
leave of the colonel. 

Next morning the two surgeons, who had been in con- 
stant attendance, came in and began as usual to dress the 
wound. 

On opening the bandage, they suddenly drew back, and 
throwing up their arms, exclaimed, — 

" Great God, this is a miracle ! The gangrene is ar- 
rested, and the colonel will live ! God has heard your 
prayers ! " 

"Why, Doctor," replied the colonel, "I told you yes- 
terday, that I believed I should get well, for I asked Jesus 
that I might live to do some good. I kne^ r he heard my 
prayer, and now you see he has. Bless the Lord with me, 
Doctor." 

Meanwhile, "Our son must die" had gone over the 
wires, and made sadness at home. Next day, "Our son will 
live, and is happy in Christ? followed, and joy came again 
to the loved ones. 

After his recovery, the colonel returned to the people 
whose sons he had led with honor through fifteen hard- 
fought battles. They, in return, gave him the best office 
in the gift of a loyal and grateful people. Among them he 
now lives in prosperity and honor, he is a member of the 



MAKE IT PLAIN. 



89 



church of Christ, and the father of a happy family growing 
up around him, and consecrated to the service of his Re- 
deemer. 

I, too, was made a better man and better minister by 
that scene, where this dear son, struggling with his guilt 
and fear of death, was led to Jesus, _and found the pardon 
of his sins. I there resolved never to forget that charge he 
made me, in his extremity : "Make it so plain that I can get 
hold of * it? 

I have made this the motto of every sermon I have 
preached, and God has blessed the effort. 




LONDON merchant engaged in Mediterranean 
commerce, had successfully prosecuted his busi- 
ness, and amassed what all merchants desire, 
an ample fortune. His, indeed, was a princely 
one. He had purchased a large and beautiful estate in -the 
country, and had built and furnished a splendid mansion in 
town, on the Surrey side of the river, and now that he was 
verging towards sixty, he concluded to retire and enjoy the 
remnant of his life in peaceful leisure. 

He negotiated for the sale of his abundance-making 
business, and sold it for another fortune. He then retired. 
He was a bachelor. He had his halls, his parlors, dining- 
rooms, and drawing-rooms, his library and cabinets of curi- 
osities. The floors were covered with the most mosaic 
specimens of Brussels and Turkey carpet ings, the furniture 
w r as of the most complete and exquisite selections, the walls 
were adorned with splendid mirrors and with classic paint- 
ings, and fine linen decorated all. 

Carriages, horses, grooms, and servants were at his com- 
90 



A RETIRED MERCHANT, 



9i 



mand. Books, pictures, and engravings were at hand to in- 
terest him. The daily and the weekly papers, and the 
periodicals, brought to his table all the news of the great 
world, and his friends and his acquaintances paid him hom- 
age. How happy must the man be who has all this ! 

He was not happy. He had no aim, no motive. The 
zest with which he read the papers when he was a merchant, 
he had lost now he had ceased to be engaged in commerce. 
A storm, a fleet, a pestilence along the Mediterranean 
shores, was full of interest to him before, because he had 
investments there. Now, they were of no consequence to 
him. The views and aims of government were watched by 
him before with searching scrutiny, because his destiny was 
bound up with theirs. The parliamentary debates were of 
the greatest consequence before, as indicating British policy , 
but that to him now ceased to be an object of importance. 
His fortune was achieved, his course was run, his destiny 
fulfilled. 

Soon, every thing and place appeared to him one uni- 
form and universal blank. His beautiful apartments were 
unused, his carriage and horses unemployed, his books un- 
read, his papers unopened, his meals untasted, and his 
clothes unworn. He had lost all enjoyment of life, and con- 
templated suicide. 

Saturday night arrived, and he resolved on Sunday 
morning early, before the busy populace were stirring, he 
would make his way to Waterloo bridge and jump into the 
river, or tumble off. 

At three o'clock, he set out on his final expedition, and 
had nearly reached the bridge, the shadows of the night 



9 2 



SABBATH READINGS. 



protecting him from observation, when a figure stood before 
him. Amazed at being seen by any one, he turned out of 
the path, when the figure crouching low before him, re- 
vealed a tattered, miserable man, baring his head in abject- 
ness. 

" What are you doing here ? " inquired the retired mer- 
chant. 

" I have a wife and family, whom I can't help from 
starving, and I am afraid to go and see them. Last night 
I knew they would be turned into the streets," replied the 
man. 

"Take that," replied the merchant, giving him his 
purse, with gold and silver in it — thinking to himself, " how 
much more useful this will be to him, than in my pockets 
in the water." 

" God bless you, sir — God bless you, sir," exclaimed the 
man several times, kneeling before the astonished merchant. 

"Stop," said the merchant, "do not overwhelm me so 
with your thanksgivings — but tell me where you live." 

" In Lambeth, sir." 

" Then w r hy are you here this morning ? " said the mer- 
chant. 

"I do not like to tell you," said the man. "I am 
ashamed to tell a gentleman like you." 

" Why so ? " replied the merchant. 

"Well, sir," replied the man, "as I had not a single 
penny, and did not know how to get one, I came here to 
drown myself, although I knew 'twas wicked! " 

The merchant was astonished and appalled, and after a 
long silence, said, "Sir, 1 am overwhelmed with wealth, and 



A RETIRED MERCHANT. 



yet I am so miserable that I came here this morning for the 
same purpose as yourself. There's something more in this 
than I can understand at present. Let me go with you to 
see your family/' 

The man made every excuse to hinder the merchant, 
but he would go. 

" Have you lost your character ?" said the merchant. 

"No, sir," replied the man, "but I am so miserably 
poor and wretched — and, for anything I know, my wife and 
children may be turned into the street. " 

"Why are you out of work and pay?" resumed the 
merchant. 

"I used to groom the horses of the stage-coaches," said 
the man, " but since the railroads are come up the coaches 
are put down, and many men, like me, have no employ- 
ment. " 

They plodded on their way, two miles of brick and 
mortar piled on either side. At last they came to a third- 
rate house, when a rough, common looking woman opened 
the door and shutter. As soon as she saw the man, she let 
loose her tongue upon him for all the villainy in the world, 
but something which passed from his hand to hers hushed 
her in an instant ; and observing the merchant, she courte- 
sied to him civilly. 

The man ran up-stairs, leaving the merchant and woman 
together, which gave the former an opportunity to make in- 
quiries. Having satisfied himself that want was the crime 
of the family, he told the woman who he was, promised to 
see her paid, and induced her to set on and cook a break- 
fast for the family, and supply them with any thing which 
they needed. 



94 



SABBATH READINGS. 



The man returned, and the merchant went up-stairs to 
see, for the first time, the wretched family in rags, dirt, and 
misery. He comforted them with hope of better days, and 
bidding the man take a hasty meal below, took him with 
him, and helped with his own hands to load a cart with' 
bed, bedding, clothes, furniture, and food for the family. 

The man was gone, and the merchant for the first mo- 
ment, reflected on all that had passed. He was relieved of 
his misery by doing something for another, and out of mere 
selfishness he resolved on doing good to others, to prevent 
the necessity for drowning himself. 

He employed the man in his stable, removed the family 
near, and placed them in a cottage, sending the children to 
school. Soon he sought out misery to relieve, and was led 
to consider the cause of all misery — sin. He turned to 
God and found him, and sought to turn his fellow sinners. 

He aided every good word and work, and was the hum- 
ble teller of his own humbling story. He had been a mer- 
chantman seeking goodly pearls, and having found the pearl 
of great price, he went and sold all that he had, and bought 
it ; and the retired earthly merchant became an active 
heavenly merchant. 




EFFEOI^NOVEL READING 



N the romantic borders of a beautiful river, in one 
of our Northern States, there is situated an ele- 



gant mansion. Spacious grounds surround the dwelling, 
and, what is not usual in this country, it has a terraced 
garden. This is a hill, situated at the side of the house, 
presenting a mass of living verdure. You ascend gradually, 
step by step, each platform, as it were, richly embroidered 
with brilliant flowers. 

In this retreat of elegance and retirement, lived Mr. 
and Mrs. M., their daughter, and a French governess. No 
expense or labor had been spared to make this daughter an 
accomplished woman ; but not one thought was ever be- 
stowed upon the immortal interests of her soul. At the 
age of sixteen, she was beautiful and intelligent, but utterly 
destitute of all religious principle. Enthusiastically fond of 
reading, she roamed her father's spacious library, and se- 
lected whatever books best pleased her. Of an imaginative 
turn, earnest and impassioned, hers was the very mind that 



9 6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



required the strong, controlling hand of a matured judg- 
ment. Yet it was left to feed at will upon the poisoned 
fruits that lie scattered around. She naturally turned to 
the novels that stored the library shelves ; and at sixteen 
was as much at home in the pages of Bulwer as she was in 
her French grammar. The ridiculous romances of Mrs. 
Radcliffe were laid aside with disgust, and Bulwer, James, 
and others, took their place. But she descended a step, 
many steps lower, and, supplied by the governess, eagerly 
devoured the very worst fictions of Eugene Sue and George 
Sand. Next she was heard discussing and excusing the 
most heinous crimes of which human nature can be guilty. 

Her parents heard with horror her freely expressed 
sentinents, and wondered where she had inhaled such lax 
ideas. They never thought of looking into her library for 
the cause, or at the unprincipled governess. The poison 
began to do its work ; she could no longer live this tame 
life ; she must have something more exciting, more exhilara- 
ting. The resolution was formed ; with a beating heart she 
collected her mother's jewels ; took one long look at her in- 
dulgent parents ; bade a silent farewell to the scenes of her 
happy childhood, and left the house forever. No warning 
voice implored her to return ; no hand was stretched out to 
save. On, on she went, until she reached the far-off city. 
Its lights dazzled her, its noise confused her, but she never 
regretted the peaceful home she had so culpably deserted. 
Her plan was to go on the stage, and become a renowned 
actress, like the heroine of one of her French novels. But 
this was not so easily achieved as she imagined ; and after 
a most unsuccessful attempt, she was compelled to act only 



EFFECT OF NOVEL READING. 97 



in subordinate parts. She had lost home, happiness, and 
respectability, and had not gained that fame for which she 
had sacrificed so much. 

But it would be too painful to follow her through all 
her wretched life, and tell how each succeeding year she 
grew more degraded and more miserable, until at length 
having run a fearful career of vice she sank into a dishon- 
ored and early grave. No mother's hand wiped the cold 
death-dew from her brow ; no kind voice whispered hope 
and consolation. Alone, poor, degraded, utterly unrepent- 
ant, she will appear before the judgment-seat of Christ ; we 
pause ; for we dare not follow it further. 

The sound of her name never echoed through the halls 
of her childhood. Her father, stern and silent, buried all 
memories of his guilty child deep within his heart ; whilst 
the mother, wan, broken-hearted, hopeless, wept in secret 
those tears of bitter agony whose fountain was perpetually 
welling afresh. 

It is "to point a moral" that we have opened these 
annals of the past ; and we would have the young ponder 
well the lesson that this history teaches. There is a danger 
in noVel reading ; it vitiates the taste, enervates the under- 
standing, and destroys all inclination for spiritual enjoy- 
ment. The soul that is bound in fetters of this habit, can- 
not rise to the contemplation of heavenly things. It has 
neither the inclination nor the power. We knew one, who, 
even with death in view, turned wdth loathing away from 
the only Book that could bring her peace and salvation, to 
feed greedily on the pages of a foolish romance. It matters 
not that some of the finest minds have given their powers 
7 



9 8 



SABBATH READINGS. 



to this style of writing ; that bright gems of intellect flash 
along their pages. The danger is so much the greater ; for 
the jewels scattered by Genius, blind even while they dazzle. 
"Some of the greatest evils of my life," said a remarkable 
woman, " I trace to the eager perusal of what are called 
' well-written novels/ I lived in a world of delusion. I 
had no power to separate the false from the real. My Bible 
lay covered with dust ; I had no desire for its pages." Oh, 
then, if the young would reach a heavenly haven ; if they 
would be guided unto " the still waters " of everlasting bliss, 
let them avoid the dangerous rock of novel reading, upon 
which so many souls have been shipwrecked and utterly 
lost. 



Be |ust Before Generous. 



9 Y friend Peyton was what is called a " fine, gen- 
erous fellow." He valued money only as a 
means of obtaining what he desired, and was 
always ready to spend it with an acquaintance 
for mutual gratification. Of course, he was a general fa- 
vorite. Every one spoke well of him, and few hesitated to 
give his ears the benefit of their good opinion. I was first 
introduced to him when he was in the neighborhood of 
twenty-two years of age. Peyton was then a clerk in the 
receipt of six hundred dollars a year. He grasped my hand 
with an air of frankness and sincerity, that at once installed 
him in my good opinion. A little pleasure excursion was 
upon the tapis, and he insisted on my joining it. I readily 
consented. There were five of us, and the expense to each, 
if borne mutually, would have been something like one 
dollar. Peyton managed everything, even to paying the 
bills ; and when I offered to pay him my proportion, he 
said :— 

" No, no ! " — pushing back my hand — "nonsense ! " 
" Yes ; but I must insist upon meeting my share of the 
expense." 

" Not a word more. The bill's settled, and you need n't 
trouble your head about it," was his reply ; and he seemed 
half offended when I still urged upon him to take my por- 
tion of the cost. 

99 

L OF £ 



IOO 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" What a fine, generous fellow Peyton is ! " said one of 
the party to me, as we met the next day. 

" Did he also refuse to let you share in the expense of 
our excursion ? " I asked. 

"After what he said to you, I was afraid of offending 
him by proposing to do so." 

" He certainly is generous— but, I think, to a fault, if I 
saw a fair specimen of his generosity yesterday. 0 

"We should be just, as well as generous." 

" I never heard that he was not just." 

" Nor I. But I think he was not just to himself. And 
I believe it will be found to appear in the end, that, if we 
are not just to ourselves, we will, somewhere in life, prove 
unjust to others. I think that his salary is not over twelve 
dollars a week. If he bore the whole expense of our pleas- 
ure excursion, it cost him within a fraction of half his earn- 
ings for a week. Had we all shared alike, it would not 
have been a serious matter to any of us." 

" Oh ! as to that, it is no very serious matter to him. 
He will never think of it." 

" But, if he does so very frequently, he may feel it 
sooner or later," I replied. 

"I'm sure I don't know anything about that," was re- 
turned. "He is a generous fellow, and I cannot but like 
him. Indeed, every one likes him." 

Some days afterwards I fell in with Peyton again, and, 
in order to retaliate a little, invited him to go and get some 
refreshments with me. He consented. When I put my 
hand in my pocket to pay for them, his hand went into his. 
But I was too quick for him. He seemed uneasy about it. 



BE JUST BEFORE GENEROUS. 101 



He could feel pleased while giving, but it evidently worried 
him to be the recipient. 

From that time, for some years, I was intimate with the 
young man. I found that he set no true value upon money. 
He spent it freely with every one ; and every one spoke 
well of him. "What a generous, whole-souled fellow he 
is!" or, "What a noble heart he has!" were the expres- 
sions constantly made in regard to him. While " Mean, 
stingy fellow ! " and other such epithets, were unsparingly 
used in speaking of a quiet, thoughtful young man, named 
Merwin, who was clerk with him in the same store, Mer- 
win appeared to set a due value upon time and money. He 
rarely indulged himself in any way, and it was with difficulty 
that he could every be induced to join in any pleasures that 
involved much expense. But I always observed that when 
he did so, he was exact about paying his proportion. 

About two years after my acquaintance with Peyton 
began, an incident let me deeper into the character and 
quality of his generosity. I called one day at the house of 
a poor widow woman who washed for me, to ask her to do 
up some clothes, extra to the usual weekly washing. I 
thought she looked as if she were in trouble about some- 
thing, and said so to her. 

It's very hard, at best," she replied, " for a poor woman, 
with four children to provide for, to get along, if she has to 
depend upon washing and ironing for a living. But when 
so many neglect to pay her regularly " — 

"Neglect to pay their washerwoman!" I said, in a 
tone of surprise, interrupting her. 

" Oh, yes. Many do that ! " 



102 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"Who?" 

" Dashing young men, who spend their money freely, 
are too apt to neglect these little matters, as they call 
them." 

" And do young men for whom you work really neglect 
to pay you? " 

" Some do. There are at least fifteen dollars now owed 
to me, and I do n't know which way to turn to get my last 
month's rent for my landlord, who has been after it three 
times this week already. Mr. Peyton owes me ten dollars 
and I can't "— 

" Mr. Peyton ? It can't be possible ! " 

" Yes, it is though. He used to be one of the most 
punctual young men for whom I washed. But lately he 
never has any money." 

" He's a very generous-hearted young man." 

"Yes, I know he is," she replied. "But something is 
wrong with him. He looks worried whenever I ask him 
for money ; and sometimes speaks as if half angry with me 
for troubling him. There's Mr. Merwin — I wish all were 
like him. I have never yet taken home his clothes, that I 
did n't find the money waiting for me, exact to a cent. He 
counts every piece when he lays out his washing for me, 
and knows exactly what it will come to ; and then, if he 
happens to be out, the change is always left with the cham- 
bermaid. It's a pleasure to do anything for him." 

"He isn't liked generally so well as Mr. Peyton is," 
said I. 

" Is n't he ? It's strange ! " the poor woman returned, 
innocently. 



BE JUST BEFORE GENEROUS. 



On the very next day, I saw Peyton riding out with an 
acquaintance in a buggy. 

u Who paid for your ride yesterday ? 99 I said to the lat- 
ter, with whom I was quite familiar, when next we met. 

" Oh, Peyton, of course. He always pays, you know. 
He's a fine, generous fellow. I wish there were more like 
him." 

" That you might ride out for nothing a little oftener, 
hey?" 

My friend colored slightly." 

"No, not that," said he. "But you know there is so 
much selfishness in the world ; we hardly ever meet a man 
who is willing to make the slightest sacrifice for the good 
of others." 

u True. And I suppose it is this very selfishness that 
makes us so warmly admire a man like Mr. Peyton, who is 
willing to gratify us at his own charge. It's a pleasant 
thing to ride out and see the country, but we are apt to 
think twice about the cost before we act once. But if some 
friend will only stand the expense, how generous and whole- 
souled we think him ! It is the same in everything else. 
We like the enjoyment, but can't afford the expense ; and 
he is a generous, fine-hearted fellow, who will squander his 
money in order to gratify us. Isn't that it, my friend? " 

He looked half convinced, and a little sheepish, to use 
an expressive Saxonism. 

On the evening succeeding this day, Peyton sat alone 
in his room, his head leaning upon his hand, and his brow 
contracted. There was a tap at his door. " Come in." A 
poorly clad, middle-aged woman entered. It was his wash- 
erwoman e 



104 SABBATH READINGS. 

The lines on the young man's brow became deeper. 

" Can't you let me have some money, Mr, Peyton ? My 
landlord is pressing hard for his rent, and I cannot pa}- him 
until you pay me." 

"Really, Mrs. Lee, it is quite impossible just now. I 
am entirely out of money. But my salary will be due in 
three weeks, and then I will pa}' you up the whole. You 
must make your landlord wait until that time. I am very 
sorry to put you to this trouble. But it will never happen 
again/' 

The young man really did feel sorry, and expressed it 
in his face as well as in the tone of his voice. 

" Can't vou let me have one or two dollars, Mr. Pevton ? 
I am entirely out of money." 

"It is impossible — I haven't a shilling left. But try 
to wait three weeks, and then it will all come to you in a 
lump, and do you a great deal more good than if you had it 
a dollar at a time." 

Mrs. Lee retired slowly, and with a disappointed air. 
The young man sighed heavily as she closed the door after 
her. He had been too generous, and now he could not be 
just. The buggy m which he had driven out with his friend 
on that day had cost him his last two dollars — a sum which 
would have lightened the heart of his poor washerwoman. 

" The fact is, my salary is too small," said he, rising 
and walking about his room uneasily. "It is not enough 
to support me. If the account were fully made up, tailor's 
bill, bootmaker's bill, and all, I dare say I should find my- 
self at least three hundred dollars in debt." 

Merwin received the same salary that he did, and was 



BE JUST BEFORE GENEROUS. 105 



just three hundred dollars ahead. He dressed as well, 
owed no man a dollar, and was far happier. It is true, he 
was not called a " fine, generous fellow/" by persons who 
took good care of their own money, while they were very 
willing to enjoy the good things of life at a friend's expense. 
But he did not mind this. The want of such a reputation 
did not disturb his mind very seriously. 

After Mrs. Lee had been gone half an hour, Peyton's 
door was flung suddenly open. A young man, bounding in, 
with extended hand came bustling up to him. 

"Ah, Peyton, my fine fellow ! How are you ? how are 
you? M And he shook Peyton's hand quite vigorously. 

" Hearty ! — and how are you, Freeman ? " 

u Oh, gay as a lark. I have come to ask a favor of 
you." 

" Name it." 

"I want fifty dollars/' 

Peyton shrugged his shoulders. 

" I must have it, my boy ? I never yet knew you to de- 
sert a friend, and I don't believe vou will do so now." 

" Suppose I have n't fifty dollars ? " 

" You can borrow it for me. I only want it for a few 
days. You shall have it back on next Monday. Try for 
me — there's a generous fellow ! ,: 

"There's a generous fellow," was irresistible. It came 
home to Peyton in the right place. He forgot poor Mrs. 
Lee, his unpaid tailor's bill, and sundry other troublesome 
accounts. 

u If I can get an advance of fifty dollars on my salary 
to-morrow, you shall have it." 



io6 SABBATH READINGS. 



" Thank you ! thank you! I knew I shouldn't have to 
ask twice when I called upon Henry Peyton. It always 
does me good to grasp the hand of such a man as you are." 

On the next day, an advance of fifty dollars was asked 
and obtained. This sum was lent as promised. In two 
weeks, the individual who borrowed it was in New Orleans, 
from whence he had the best of reasons for not wishing to 
return to the North. Of course, the generous Henry Pey- 
ton lost his money. 

An increase of salary to a thousand dollars only made 
him less careful of his money. Before, he lived as freely 
as if his income had been one-third above what it was ; now, 
he increased his expenses in like ratio. It was a pleasure 
to him to spend his money — not for himself alone, but 
among his friends. 

It is no cause of wonder, that in being so generous to 
some, he was forced to be unjust to others. He was still 
behindhand with his poor washerwoman — owed for board- 
ing, clothes, hats, boots, and a dozen other matters — and 
was, in consequence, a good deal harrassed with duns. Still, 
he was called by some of his old cronies, "a fine, generous 
fellow." A few were rather colder in their expressions. 
He had borrowed money from them, and did not offer to 
return it, and he was such a generous-minded young man, 
that they felt a delicacy about calling his attention to it. 

"Can you raise two thousand dollars ?" was asked of 
him by a friend, when he was twenty-seven years old. " If 
you can, I know a first-rate chance to get into business." 

" Indeed ! What is the nature of it ? " 

The friend told him all he knew, and he was satisfied 



BE JUST BEFORE GENEROUS. 



that a better offering might never present itself. But two 
thousand dollars were indispensable. 

"Can't you borrow it? " suggested the friend. 

" I will try." 

" Try your best. You will never again have such an 
opportunity. ,, 

Peyton did try, but in vain. Those who could lend it 
to him considered him "too good-hearted a fellow" to trust 
with money ; and he was forced to see that tide, which if 
he could have taken it at the flood, would have led him on 
to fortune, slowly and steadily recede. 

To Merwin the same offer was made. He had fifteen 
hundred dollars laid by, and easily procured the balance. 
No one was afraid to trust him with money. 

"What a fool I have been ! " was the mental exclama- 
tion of Peyton, when he learned that his fellow-clerk had 
been able, with his own earnings, on a salary no larger than 
his own, to save enough to embrace the golden opportunity 
which he was forced to pass by. " They call Merwin mean 
and selfish — and I am called a generous fellow. That 
means, he has acted like a wise man, and I like a fool, I 
suppose. I know him better than they do. He is neither 
mean nor selfish, but careful and prudent, as I ought to 
have been. His mother is poor, and so is mine. Ah, me!" 
and the thought of his mother caused him to clasp both 
hands against his forehead. " I believe two dollars of his 
salary have been sent weekly to his poor mother. But I 
have never helped mine a single cent. There is the mean 
man, and here is the generous one. Fool ! fool ! wretch ! 
He has fifteen hundred dollars ahead, after having sent his 



io8 



SABBATH READINGS. 



mother one hundred dollars a year for five or six years, and 
I am over five hundred dollars in debt. A fine, generous 
fellow, truly ! 

The mind of Peyton was, as it should be, disturbed to 
its very center. His eyes were fairly opened, and he saw 
just where he stood, and what he was worth as a generous 
man. 

" They have flattered my weakness," said he, bitterly, 
" to eat and drink and ride at my expense. It was very 
easy to say, 'how free-hearted he is/ so that I could hear 
them. A cheap way of enjoying the good things of life, 
verily ! But the end of all this nas come. One year from 
to-day, if I live, I will owe no man a dollar. My kind old 
mother, whom I have so long neglected, shall hear from me 
at once — ten dollars every month I dedicate to her. Come 
what will, nothing shall touch that. This agreement with 
myself I solemnly enter into in the sight of Heaven, and 
nothing shall tempt me to violate it." 

" Are you going to ride out this afternoon, Peyton ? " 
inquired a young friend, breaking in upon him at this mo- 
ment. 

" Yes, if you'll hire the buggy," was promptly returned. 
"I can't afford that." 

S€ Nor I either. How much is your salary ? " 
" Only a thousand." 

" Just what mine is. If you can't, I am sure I cannot." 

" Of course, you ought to be the best judge. I knew 
you rode out often, and liked company." 

"Yes, I have done so; but that's past. I've been a 
, fine, generous fellow ' long enough to get into debt and 



BE JUST BEFORE GENEROUS. 



109 



mar my prospects for life, perhaps ; but I am going to as- 
sume a new character. No doubt the very ones who have 
had so many rides, oyster suppers, and theater tickets at 
my expense, will all at once discover that I am as mean and 
selfish as Merwin, who has refrained from not only injuri- 
ous, expensive indulgences, but even denied himself many 
innocent pleasures to save time and money for betcer pur- 
poses. I now wish I had been as truly noble and generous 
in the right direction as he has been." 

Peyton went to work in the matter of reform in right 
good earnest, but he found it hard work ; old habits and in- 
clinations were very strong. Still he had some strength of 
mind, and he brought this into as vigorous exercise as it 
was possible for him to do, mainly with success, but some- 
times with gentle lapses into self-indulgence. 

His mother lived in a neighboring town, and was in 
humble circumstances. She supported herself by keeping 
a shop for the sale of various little articles. The old lady 
sat behind her counter, one afternoon, sewing, and thinking 
of her only son. 

"Ah, me!" she sighed, "I thought Henry would have 
done something for himself long before this ; but he is a 
wild, free-hearted boy, and spends everything as he goes." 

" Here's a letter for you at last, Mrs. Peyton," said the 
well-known voice of the postman, breaking in upon her just 
at this moment. 

With trembling hands, Mrs. Peyton broke the seal ; a 
bank-bill crumpled in her fingers as she opened the letter. 
A portion of its contents read : — 

" Dear Mother : I have had some very serious thoughts 



no 



SABBATH READINGS. 



of late about my way of living. You know I never liked 

to be considered mean ; this led me to be, what seemed to 
everybody, very generous. Everybody was pleased to eat, 
and drink, and ride at my expense ; but no one seemed in- 
clined to let me do the same at his expense. I have been 
getting a good salary for six or seven years, and for a part 
of that time, as much as a thousand dollars. I am ashamed 
to say that I have not a farthing laid by ; nay, what is 
worse, I owe a good many little bills. But, dear mother, 
I think I have come fairly to my senses. I have come to a 
resolution not to spend a dollar foolishly; thus far I have 
been able to keep my promise to myself, and, by the help 
of Heaven, I mean to keep it to the end. My first thought, 
on seeing my folly, w r as of my shameful disregard to my 
mother's condition. In this letter are ten dollars. Every 
month you will receive from me a like sum — more, if you 
need it. As soon as I can lay by a sufficient amount, I 
will look around for some means of entering into business, 
and, as soon after as possible, make provision for you, that 
your last days may be spent in ease and comfort. ,, 

" God bless the dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Peyton, 
dropping the letter, while the tears gushed from her eyes. 
The happy mother wept long for joy. With her trembling 
hand she wrote a reply, and urged him, by the tenderest 
and most sacred considerations, to keep to his good resolu- 
tions. 

At the end of a year Peyton examined his affairs and 
found himself freed from debt ; but for nearly one hundred 
dollars of his wages he could not account. He puzzled 
over it for two or three evenings, and made out over fifty 

dollars spent foolishly. 



BE JUST BEFORE GENEROUS. m 

64 No doubt the rest will have to be passed to that ac- 
count," said he at last, half angry with himself. " I'll have 
to watch closer than this. At the end of the next year, I'll 
not be in doubt about where one hundred dollars have 
gone." 

It was but rarely, now, that you would hear the name 
of Peyton mentioned. Before, everybody said he was a 
"fine, generous fellow;" everybody praised him. Now, he 
seemed to be forgotten, or esteemed of little consideration 
He felt this ; but he had started to accomplish a certain 
end, and he had sufficient strength of mind not to be driven 
from his course. 

In a few years he entered into business and succeeded 
beyond his expectations. He provided a home for his 
mother, and no one who saw her during the remaining ten 
years of her life would have called her unhappy. 

I know Peyton still. He is not now, by general repu- 
tation, "a fine, generous fellow." But he is a good and re- 
spected citizen, and was a good son while his mother lived 
with him. He has won the means of really benefiting oth- 
ers, and few are more willing than he is to do it, when it 
can be done in the right way. He is still "generous" — . 
but wisely so. 



CAUGHT ed the QUICKSAND 




VICTOR HUGO gives the following impressive 
description of a death in the quicksand off cer- 
tain coasts of Brittany, or Scotland. He says : — 
It sometimes happens that a man, traveler 
or fisherman, walking on the beach at low tide, far from the 
bank, suddenly notices that for several minutes he has been 
walking with some difficulty. The strand beneath his feet 
is like pitch ; his soles stick to it ; it is sand no longer — it 
is glue. 

The beach is perfectly dry, but at every step he takes, 
as soon as he lifts his foot the print which it leaves fills 
with w r ater. The eye, however, has noticed no change ; the 
immense strand is smooth and tranquil ; all the sand has 
the same appearance ; nothing distinguishes the surface 
which is solid from that which is no longer so ; the joyous 
little cloud of sand fleas continue to leap tumultuously over 
the wayfarer's feet. The man pursues his way, goes for- 
ward, inclines to the land, endeavors to get nearer the up- 

112 



CAUGHT IN THE QUICKSAND. 113 



land. He is not anxious. Anxious about what ? Only he 
feels somehow as if the weight of his feet increases with 
every step he takes. Suddenly he sinks in. 

He sinks in two or three inches. Decidedly he is not 
on the right road ; he stops to take his bearings. All at 
once he looks at his feet. They have disappeared. The 
sand covers them. He draws them out of the sand ; he 
will retrace his steps ; he turns back ; he sinks in deeper. 
The sand comes up to his ankles ; he pulls himself out and 
throws himself to the left ; the sand is half-leg deep. He 
throws himself to the right ; the sand comes up to his 
shins. Then he recognizes with unspeakable terror that 
he is caught in the quicksand, and that he has beneath him 
the fearful medium in which man can no more walk than 
the fish can swim. He throws off his load if he has one, 
lightens himself like a ship in distress ; it is already too 
late ; the sand is above his knees. He calls, he waves his 
hat or his handkerchief ; the sand gains on him more and 
more. If the beach is deserted, if the land is too far off, if 
there is no help in sight, it is all over. 

He is condemned to that appalling burial, long, infallible, 
implacable, and impossible to slacken or to hasten, which 
endures for hours, w T hich seizes you erect, free, and in full 
health, and which draws you by the feet, which at every 
effort that you make, at every shout you utter, drags you a 
little deeper, sinking you slowly into the earth while you 
look upon the horizon, the sails of the ships upon the sea, 
the birds flying and singing, the sunshine and the sky. 
The victim attempts to sit down, to lie down, to creep ; 
every movement he makes inters him ; he straightens up 



U4 



SABBATH READINGS. 



he sinks in; he feels that he is being swallowed. He 
howls, implores, cries to the clouds, despairs. 

Behold him waist deep in the sand. The sand reaches 
his breast ; he is now only a bust. He raises his arm, 
utters furious groans, clutches the beach with his nails, 
would hold by that straw, leans upon his elbows to pull 
himself out of this soft sheath, sobs frenziedly ; the sand 
rises. The sand reaches his shoulders ; the sand reaches 
his neck ; the face alone is visible now. The mouth cries, 
the sand fills it ; silence. The eyes still gaze, the sand 
shuts them ; night. Now the forehead decreases, a little 
hair flutters above the sand ; a hand comes to the surface 
of the beach, moves, and shakes, and disappears. It is the 
earth-drowning man. The earth filled with the ocean be- 
comes a trap. It presents itself like a plain, and opens 
like a wave. 

Could anything more graphically describe the progress 
of a young man, from the first cup of wine to the last ? 



"What Shall It Profit?" 




'HY, Archie Allen, you are not ready for church 
I yet ; we shall surely be late," said the young 
wife as she entered the elegant library where 
her husband sat reading a choice volume of 



poetry. It was Clara's first Sabbath in her new home. 
She had but lately left the sheltering roof of a kind great- 
uncle, who had taken her to his home when a lonely orphan, 
and reared her very tenderly, surrounding her with every 
comfort and many of the elegancies of life. A gentleman 
some years her senior had won her heart's affection, and 
now she was installed as mistress of his beautiful city 
home. Six months before she had publicly professed her 
love for the Saviour, but she was yet in the morning of her 
religious life. She needed the fostering care of an experi- 
enced, devoted Christian. Would she meet with such aid 
from him who was to be her future companion and pro- 
tector ? " Marry only in the Lord," was the advice of an 
aged friend to the young girl. 

"Archie is not a professor of religion," she reasoned 
with herself ; " but he respects religion, I know, and who 
can tell what influence I may exert over him ? " 

" You are not really going to church to-day, Clara, dear, 
cold as it is ? " said the young man dropping his book and 
looking up with a smile. 

u Why, who ever heard of such a thing as staying at 
home from church unless one was ill ! " 



n6 SABBATH READINGS. 

" I think I am not very well, Clara. Won't you stay 
at home and take care of me ? Read me some poetry and 
sing a few of your sweet songs." 

Clara looked at him a moment a little incredulously 
and then replied, " You are quite well, I know by your 
laughing. I think it is very wrong to stay at home from 
church ; indeed I do, Archie. Won't you go with me? " 

" But where shall we go, my good wife ? " 

st Wherever you are accustomed to." 

u I am accustomed to attend that cozy little brick church 
down by your uncle's, and I thought I had done duty so 
well there I should be considered religious enough for the 
rest of my days. But don't look so sad, Clara. I will go 
anywhere to please you. I know of a splendid marble 
church on the Avenue. We will drive there if you like, 
though I really have no idea of what persuasion it is. I 
will order the carriage and be ready in a few minutes," and 
he left the room gaily humming the fragment of an opera 
air. 

It was an elegant, stately church. The brilliant light 
which flowed through the stained windows almost dazzled 
the sight of the young girl, accustomed only to the plain 
green shades of the humble village church. The voice of 
the deep-toned organ rolled through the marble hall and 
then burst forth into a light, gay air, which, to her unac- 
customed ears, sounded strangely in a house of worship. 
God seemed nearer in the little church at home, which, 
nestled down among the grassy mounds and moss-grown 
headstones, seemed always pointing to a life beyond. 

When the minister arose she marked well his graceful 



WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? 



117 



air, the polished words and sentences which flowed so 
smoothly from his lips as he read them from the page be- 
fore him. But, alas ! 

" So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start, for soul is wanting there." 

Clara felt that her soul had not been fed, as the carriage 
rolled away from the marble church ; but there was much 
around her to attract the gaze of one who had never before 
spent a Sabbath in the city. Her husband was glad to be 
released from the sound of " the prosy old doctor's essay." 
and was in quite good humor with himself for his act of 
self-denial in going to church. So the drive home was 
quite a pleasant one, though considerably longer than the 
one to church. 

When they reached home a note was brought in con- 
taining an invitation from a fashionable friend of Mr. Al- 
len's to take a little drive out to the new park grounds that 
afternoon. The carriage would call at three o'clock. 

Clara was greatly shocked at such a disregard of the 
sanctity of God's holy day, and her husband employed a 
great deal of skillful rhetoric and much more subtle sophis- 
try before she could be brought even to entertain such a 
project. 

" You know I went to church to please you this morn- 
ing. I am sure you will be kind enough to oblige me by 
accepting my friend's imitation. I know he would be se- 
riously offended if we did not." 

Alas for youth, when the counselors it relies on " coun- 
sel to do wickedly"! Clara yielded, though with sad 
misgivings, and dressed herself for the ride. 



u8 



SABBATH READINGS. 



The lady beside her was very courteous and attentive, 
and the gay conversation turned on various frivolous worldly 
subjects, till in the pleasant excitement of the drive Clara 
almost forgot the day. When they turned back again Mrs. 
Harvey insisted that they should dine with her, and the 
carriage stopped at their residence. A gay evening was 
spent, Clara being prevailed upon to play some of her 
choicest music and join her new acquaintance in singing 
some popular songs, which she did with most exquisite 
grace and expression. Her dark eye grew brighter and 
her fair check flushed softly, as she felt the proud, admir- 
ing glance of her husband bent upon her. But underneath 
all her pleasure was a dull sense of pain and a conscious- 
ness of wrong-doing, which was a very serpent trail among 
her fragrant flowers. When she reached her home again a 
flood of regretful sorrow overwhelmed her heart, and she 
wept bitterly. Her husband sought most tenderly to 
soothe her grief, and secretly resolved to undermine the 
" superstition which caused the dear girl so much unhappi- 
ness." 

" You have done nothing wrong, dear Clara, that you 
should reproach yourself so bitterly. You have only spent 
a pleasant afternoon and evening with a friend. We must 
have dined somewhere, and what difference whether at 
their house or our own ! what is life given us for except to 
make it just as full of happiness as we can, and to make 
others around us happy ! Just think how much pleasure 
your sweet singing gave my friends and me. Harvey said 
it was better than the finest opera he ever heard. Relig- 
ion ought to make people happy. I am afraid yours has 



WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? 



119 



not today, Clara, so I cannot think it is just the right sort 
for you. Now, really, did not the drive to and from church 
do you more good than the sermon ? I am quite sure it 
did ; so I always intend to take a good long road to church 
in the future." 

It was some consolation to know that her husband in- 
tended to go to church with her in the future ; so Clara 
dried her eyes and listened to a little gem of poetry he had 
selected to read to her that morning. 

Little by little the rock of her faith was worn away, and 
she was fast learning to look on happiness as the true end 
of existence instead of holiness, "without which no man 
shall see the Lord." And, alas ! many whose associations 
are far less worldly make this mistake, and look mainly for 
a great deal of joy and exalted happiness in their religious 
life. Because they do not attain it they go mourning all 
their days, looking with weeping eyes on those whom they 
regard as more favored of God, because the light of glad- 
ness shines upon their pathway. Desponding heart ! there 
is no true happiness in religion where that alone is the end 
you seek. Holiness must be the end and aim of your whole 
course, or your joy will be like the "hope of the hypocrite, 
but for a moment,'' u Be ye holy, for I am holy," is the 
divine command. 

How strange that a truly loving heart could enter upon 
such a task as that which Mr. Allen now commenced — the 
work of loosing a trusting nature from its only safe moor- 
ings, leaving it to drift without a compass or a guiding star 
upon a sea abounding with fearful rocks and angry breakers. 
But such is the hatred of the natural heart to the humbling 



120 



SABBATH READINGS. 



doctrine of the cross and salvation alone through Him who 
was crucified upon it. 

Clara was fond of reading, and her husband took care 
to place in her way certain fascinating writers, then quite 
popular, whose frequent merry flashes and sarcastic allu- 
sions to the "orthodoxy" tended more surely than serious 
reasoning would have done to make her think lightly of the 
faith in which she had been trained. The old-fashioned 
Bible was skilfully tortured out of its plainest meaning by 
these so-called reformers, or utterly ignored where it could 
not be distorted to suit their views. What their opinions 
of its inspiration were could never be clearly seen by others, 
if, indeed, they had ever given such a trifling matter any 
consideration whatever. Instead of the sure foundation 
which has Jesus Christ for its corner-stone, and a religion 
which teaches faith, humility, self-denial, earnest labor for 
souls, and all lowly virtues, they profess to throw wide open 
the doors of a " broad church," which should gather in all 
mankind as brothers, which should teach them the dignity 
and excellence of humanity, and give every one a free pass 
at last on the swift train over the celestial railway. In their 
great harvest-field they claimed the tares to-be as valuable 
as the wheat, and never gave thought to the " harvest day." 
But, alas [ calling the tares wheat will not avail when "the 
Lord of the harvest " comes and the command is given, 
" Bind them in bundles to burn them." 

But the form in which the fatal error was clothed was 
fair and pleasing, especially so when her husband would 

" Lend to the charm of the poet 
The music of his voice." 



WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? 



121 



There was one favorite writer who seemed to possess a 
magic power in painting every shady nook and mossy way- 
side spring of the human heart. No old, gray rock or 
fathomless shadow of feeling seemed to escape that observ. 
ing eye. And there were clear, bold strokes sometimes 
which showed a strength not often given to a woman's 
hand. Through all her writings ran a thread of light re- 
flected from God's word, though bent out of its own right 
line by the prism through which it flowed. Much w r as said 
of the love and tender mercy of God, but the fact that he 
is also a just God, and will in nowise clear the guilty, was 
set aside as a hard doctrine. The gay scoffer, the one who 
despises Christ's tender offers of love and pardon, provided 
he is amiable and pleasant among his friends and associates, 
must not be given over to a just retribution. God is too 
loving a Father to see such a lovely s corner perish. It is 
" so incongruous " to think of the one with whom we have 
had such pleasant converse here being forever lost. The 
sophistry gradually wrought its work ; the more readily, as 
poor Clara, in the whirl of fashion and gaiety, failed to 
bring it to the test of " the law and the testimony." 

Time rolled on, and Clara w r as becoming more thought- 
ful and studious. Various philosophical works which her 
husband admired, and which he often read and discussed 
with her, were becoming favorite volumes. There was 
something grand in the old philosopher's views of life and 
its little ills and joys. There was something wonderful in 
their curious speculations respecting the mysteries of the 
world beyond. Her husband delighted in leading her mind 
through all their fantastic windings as they groped for the 



122 



SABBATH READINGS. 



truth so clearly revealed to us. He praised his wife for 
her appreciation of such intellectual food, and rejoiced that 
he had been so successful in winning the affection of a 
truly intellectual woman. Her self-love was gratified, and 
her diligence in diving deeper into his favorite works daily 
increased. 

In her own home circle her heart had room to expand 
its choicest tendrils. A noble boy three summers old was 
prattling at her feet, and all the demands of fashion could 
not make her forget a mother's duties. Still they were 
only the duties that pertained to his temporal welfare, for 
the flame of devotion had smoldered to ashes on the hearth- 
stone of her heart. 

The rain was dashing against the closed shutters one 
November night as an anxious group gathered in Mrs. 
Allen's chamber. They were standing on either side of a 
beautiful rosewood crib, whose hangings of azure gauze 
were closely drawn aside. There lay a little form tossing 
and restless, his little face and throat seemed scarlet as 
they rested on the snowy pillow, and his little hand moved 
restlessly to and fro, as if vainly striving to cool the burn- 
ing heat. It was the mother's hand that tirelessly bathed 
the scarlet brow and burning limbs. Servants were con- 
stantly in waiting, but no hand but her husband's was 
allowed to take her place. 

" Do you think there is hope, doctor ? " was the ques- 
tion she longed to ask, but could not frame it into words 
It came at length from her husband's lips. The answer 
was only a straw to grasp at. 

"He is in a very critical state, indeed. If I had been 



WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? 123 



at home when he was first taken ill I think the fever would 
not have reached such a height. But everything almost 
depends on the first steps. We must do what we can now 
to make up" for lost hours." 

But all that the best medical skill could do proved use- 
less. The little sufferer lingered through the long night 
watch, and when the morning dawned seemed once more 
to know them all. u My mamma," were the first words 
which fell from his lips, sending a thrill of joy to all their 
hearts. It was bliss to see the smile of recognition light 
once more those sweet blue eyes, and the parents grasped 
each other's hand in silent joy. The old physician alone 
looked grave and sorrowful. The little light was fast fading 
out, and this was its dying flicker. 

" Mamma, please take Bertie," said the little one, hold- 
ing up the dimpled hands. Very tenderly was he lifted up 
and laid in her arms. 

"Good night, papa, it's most dark now ; Bertie is going 
to sleep." 

His mother's tearful face bent over him, and as the 
strange hand of Death was laid upon his heart-strings he 
clasped her closely about the neck, as if she were a refuge 
from every danger. 

They took the little one gently from her arms and laid 
him on his couch again. Her husband could not even 
strive to comfort her. He saw the joy and pride of his ex- 
istence, the heir of his name and fortune, around whom so 
many fair hopes clustered, " taken away by a stroke," and 
his soul seemed crushed within him. He bowed his head 
upon his hands, and, regardless of other eyes, the proud 



124 



SABBATH READINGS. 



man groaned, and sobbed, and wept as never in his life he 
had done before. Both were too deeply stricken to utter 
words of comfort. Clara felt her bleeding heart torn from 
her bosom. Yet no tears came to her relief. Her brain 
seemed bursting with the pressure upon it. Where was 
the sustaining power of boasted philosophy in this hour of 
darkness ? 

Ah, when the afflictions of life come home to "the bone 
and marrow of our own households' ' they are far different 
to us from those which concern only our neighbors. It is 
an easy thing to look on pleasure philosophically, or even 
the afflictions of others, but when our turn to suffer comes 
we shall feel our need of a strong staff to lean upon, a sure 
support that can keep us in perfect peace, even in the fur- 
nace. Clara had sought to pray when the agony of fear 
was upon her, but God seemed too far away to listen. 

" I cannot give him up, my husband ! " was the agonized 
cry of the mother as they stood for the last time by his 
side before he was to be taken forever from their chamber. 
"I cannot give him up," was the despairing language of 
both their hearts. There can be no true resignation where 
a loving Father's hand is not recognized in the affliction ; 
where this poor world is allowed to bound the spirit's vision. 
But at last the precious dust was borne away to be seen no 
more by mortal eye till the resurrection morning. 

Time, the great healer, wore away the sharpness of the 
bereavement, but Clara could never again delight in her 
former pursuits. How like very dust and ashes seemed 
the food she had been seeking to nourish her soul upon ! 
A softened melancholy rested upon her heart, and she would 





Copyrighted by M. A . Yroman, 1905. 

Christ the Good Shepherd. 



WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? 



125 



wander about her house looking at the relics of her lost one. 
And day by day the roses faded from her cheek, her step 
grew lighter on the stair, and she rapidly declined, till at 
length she was startled at the shadowy form and face her 
mirror revealed to her. Her long-neglected Bible was once 
more sought for, and she read with all the desperate eager- 
ness of a drowning man, who catches at every chance of 
safety. It was her mother's Bible, and along the margin 
were delicate pencil tracings, pointing to many precious 
passages. How eagerly she read them over ! and when she 
was too weary herself, she gave the book into her husband's 
hand. Still he could give her no advice in her spiritual 
distress, and looked upon it with compassion as the result 
of her disease. He gave her the tenclerest worldly consola- 
tion, but it brought no peace to her anxious soul. Was 
there no one to offer a word of true counsel ? From a very 
humble source came the advice she so much needed. The 
kind nurse, Margaret, whom little Bertie had loved next to 
his parents, was an earnest, humble Christian. It was from 
her lips he had learned to lisp his morning and evening 
prayer, and her low, gentle voice that told him over and 
over the sweet story he never tired of hearing — the story of 
the Babe of Bethlehem. 

Plainly and simply she pointed Clara's mind to the Lamb 
of God as the only Saviour, praying hourly in her heart 
that God would bring home the truth with power to her. 

At length a little light broke in upon her mind. "It 
may be he will receive even such a wandering sheep as I," 
she said, " oh, I will cast myself upon his mercy only, for I 
can do nothing to make myself better ! " 



126 



SABBATH READINGS, 



The thin hands were folded over the Bible, the eyes 
closed wearily, a faint motion of the lips told of the silent 
prayer her heart was offering, as gently she breathed her 
life away. 

A few months later Mr, Allen became a wanderer in 
many lands. 

Do you ever sigh and disquiet your heart. Christian pil- 
grim, because God has not given you wealth and worldly 
ease ? Remember the words of One who never gave a 
needless caution nor spoke an untruthful word — " How 
hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom 
of heaven ! n 

It is a dangerous step indeed for a young heart to form 
a life-long union with one who is a stranger to its hopes of 
heaven. " Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbe- 
lievers/' is a command which may not be lightly broken. 
Where all of this world, and very probably the world to 
come, are at stake, the cost should be well counted. " What 
shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his 
own soul?" Even the most devoted affection the world 
can bestow will be no substitute for God's loving favor. 
" What shall a man give in exchange for his soul ? " 



Live Within Your Means. 



HIS is pleasant ! " exclaimed a young husband, 
taking his seat in the rocking-chair as the supper 
things were removed. The fire glowing m the 
grate, revealed a pretty and neatly furnished 
sitting-room, with all the appliances of comfort. The fatigu- 
ing business of the day was over, and he sat enjoying what 
he had all day been anticipating, the delights of his own 
fireside. His pretty wife, Esther, took her work and sat 
down by the table. 

"It is pleasant to have a home of one's own," he again 
said, taking a satisfactory survey of his little quarters. 
The cold rain beat against the windows, and he thought he 
felt really grateful for all his present comforts. 

"Now if we only had a piano ! " exclaimed the wife. 
" Give me the music of your own sweet voice before all 
the pianos in creation," he observed, complimentarily ; but 
he felt a certain secret disappointment that his wife's 
thankfulness did not happily chime with his own. 
"Well, we want one for our friends," said Esther. 
"Let our friends come to see us, and. not to hear a 
piano," exclaimed the husband. 

"But, George, everybody has a piano now-a-days — we 
don't go anywhere without seeing a piano," persisted the 
wife. 

"Ana yet I don't know what we want one for — you will 

T27 




128 SABBATH READINGS. 

/ 

have no time to play on one, and I don't want to hear it." 

" Why, they are so fashionable — I think our room looks 
nearly naked without one." 

" I think it looks just right." 

u I think it looks very naked — we want a piano shock- 
ingly," protested Esther emphatically. 
The husband rocked violently. 

" Your lamp smokes, my dear," said he, after a long 
pause. 

" When are you going to get a camphene lamp ? I 
have told you a dozen times how much we need one," said 
Esther pettishly. 

" These are very pretty lamps — I never can see by a 
camphene lamp," said her husband. "These lamps are 
the prettiest of the kind I ever saw/' 

" But, George, I do not think our room is complete 
without a camphene lamp," said Esther sharply. "They 
are so fashionable ! Why, the Morgans, and Millers, and 
many others I might mention, all have them ; I am sure we 
ought 'to." 

"We ought not to take pattern by other people's ex- 
penses, and I don't see any reason in that." 

The husband moved uneasily in his chair. 

"We want to live as well as others," said Esther. 

" We want to live within our means, Esther," exclaimed 
George. 

" I am sure we can afford it as well as the Morgans, and 
Millers, and Thorns ; we do not wish to appear mean." 
George's cheek crimsoned. 
" Mean I I ana not mean ! " he cried angrily. 



LIVE WITHIN YOUR MEANS. 



129 



"Then we do not wish to appear so," said the wife. 
"To complete this room, and make it look like other peo- 
ple's we want a piano and camphene lamps." 

" We want — we want ! " muttered the husband, " there's 
no satisfying woman's wants, do what you may," and he 
abruptly left the room. 

How many husbands are in a similar dilemma? How 
many houses and husbands are rendered uncomfortable by 
the constant dissatisfaction of a wife with present comforts 
and present provisions ! How many bright prospects for 
business have ended in bankruptcy and ruin in order to 
satisfy this secret hankering after fashionable superfluities ! 
Could the real cause of many failures be known, it would 
be found to result from useless expenditures at home — ex- 
penses to answer the demands of fashion and " what will 
people think ? " 

" My wife has made my fortune," said a gentleman of 
great possessions, " by her thrift, and prudence, and cheer- 
fulness, when I was just beginning." 

" And mine has lost my fortune," answered his com- 
panion, " by useless extravagance and repining when I was 
doing well." 

What a world does this open to the influence which a 
wife possesses over the future prosperity of her family ! 
Let the wife know her influence, and try to use it wisely 
and well. 

Be satisfied to commence on a small scale. It is too 
common for young housekeepers to begin where their 
mothers ended. Buy all that is necessary to work skilfully 
with ; adorn your house with all that will render it comfort- 

9 



130 SABBATH READINGS. 



able. Do not look at richer homes, and covet their costly 
furniture. If secret dissatisfaction is ready to spring up, 
go a step further and visit the homes of the suffering poor ; 
behold dark, cheerless apartments, insufficient clothing, and 
absence of all the comforts and refinements of social life, 
and then turn to your own with a joyful spirit. You will 
then be prepared to meet your husband with a grateful 
heart, and be ready to appreciate the toil of self-denial 
which he has endured in the business world to surround 
you with the delights of home ; and you will be ready to 
co-operate cheerfully with him in so arranging your ex- 
penses, that his mind will not be constantly harassed with 
fears lest his family expenses may encroach upon public 
payments. Be independent ; a young housekeeper never 
needed greater moral courage than she does now to resist 
the arrogance of fashion. Do not let the A.'s and B.'s de- 
cide what you must have, neither let them hold the strings 
of your purse. You know best what you can and ought to 
afford It matters but little what people think, provided 
you are true to yourself and family. 



OUToqH E WRONG POCKET 

/ u , Z^ fk SSI ' 




V^^^ R - TAGGARD frowned as he observed the 
m m P^ e °^ kills ky his plate, placed there by his 

■ M prudent, economical wife, not without an anx- 
^ ^vious flutter at the heart, in anticipation of the 
scene that invariably followed. He actually groaned as he 
read the sum total. 

"There must be some mistake, Mary " he said, pushing 
back his plate, with a desperate air : "it is absolutely im- 
possible for us to have used all these things in one month ! " 

"The bills are correct, John," was the meek response ; 
" I looked them over myself/' 

" Then one thing is certain, provisions are either wasted, 
thrown out the window, as it were, or stolen. Jane has rela- 
tives in the place, and I have n't the least doubt but that 
she supports them out of what she steals." 

Mrs. Taggard's temper was evidently rising ; there were 
two round crimson spots upon her cheeks, and she tapped 
her foot nervously upon the floor. 

" I am neither wasteful, nor extravagant, John, And 

13* 



'132 SABBATH READINGS. 



as for Jane, I know her to be perfectly honest and trust- 
worthy." 

" It is evident that there is a leak somewhere, Mary ; 
and it is your duty as a wife, to find out where it is, and 
stop it. Our bills are perfectly enormous ; and if this sort 
of thing goes on much longer, I shall be a bankrupt." 

Mrs. Taggard remained silent, trying to choke down 
the indignant feelings that struggled for utterance. 

" You will have to order some coal/' she said, at last ; 
a we have hardly sufficient for the day." 

" Is there anything more, Mrs. Taggard?" inquired 
her husband ; ironically. 

" Yes ; neither I nor the children are decently or com- 
fortably clothed ; all need an entire new outfit." 

" Go on, madam. As I am a man of unlimited means, 
if you have any other wants, I hope you won't be at all back- 
ward about mentioning them." 

" I don't intend to be," was the quiet, but spirited re- 
ply. "I wouldn't do for another what I do for you, for 
double my board and clothing. Both the parlor and sit- 
ting-room need refurnishing ; everything looks so faded and 
shabby, that I am ashamed to have any one call. And the 
stairs need recarpeting, the blinds and gate need repairing, 
and the fence needs painting." 

" That can't be all, Mrs. Taggard. Are you sure that 
there is n't something else ? " 

u I do n't think of anything else just now, Mr. Taggard ; 
though if there should be a few dollars over and above what 
these will cost, they won't come amiss. I should like to 
have a little change in my pocket, if only for the novelty 
of the thing. You needn't fear its being wasted," 



OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET. 133 

Mr. Taggard was evidently not a little astonished at 
this sudden outbreak in his usually quiet and patient wife, 
but who, like most women of that stamp, had considerable 
spirit when it was aroused. 

" Now that you are through, Mrs. Taggard, perhaps 
you will let me say a word. Here is all the money I can 
spare you this month ; so you can make the most of it." 

Laying a roll of bills on the table, Mr. Taggard walked 
to the door; remarking, just before he closed it, that he 
should leave town on the next train, to be absent about a 
week. 

The reverie into which Mrs. Taggard fell, as she listened 
to the sound of his retreating steps, was far from being a 
pleasant one. Aside from her natural vexation, she felt 
grieved and saddened by the change that had come over 
her once kind, indulgent husband. He seemed to be en- 
tirely filled with the greed of gain, the desire to amass 
money — not for the sake of the good that it might enable 
him to enjoy, or confer, but for the mere pleasure of hoard- 
ing it. And this miserly feeling grew upon him daily, un- 
til he seemed to grudge his family the common comforts of 
life. And yet Mrs. Taggard knew that he was not only 
in receipt of a comfortable income from his business, but 
had laid by a surplus, yearly, ever since their marriage. 

She had taxed her ingenuity to save in every possible 
way, but when the monthly bills were presented the same 
scene was enacted, only it grew worse and worse. 

And this penuriousness extended to himself. He 
grudged himself, as well as wife and children, clothing suit- 
able to his means and station, and went about looking so 



134 



SABBATH READINGS. 



rusty and shabby that Mrs. Taggard often felt ashamed of 
him, inwardly wondering if he could be the same man who 
had wooed and won her. 

With a heavy sigh Mrs Taggard took up the roll of bills 
upon the table, hoping to find enough to pay what was al- 
ready due — she did not look for more. 

An ejaculation of astonishment burst from her lips as 
she unrolled the paper in which it was folded. It con- 
tained $500 in bills, and a check for $500 more. 

With a look of quiet determination in her eyes, Mrs. 
Taggard arose to her feet. " The family should now have 
some of the comforts to which they were entitled, if they 
never did again." 

First, she settled every bill ; a heavy weight being lifted 
from her heart as she did so ; besides getting a fresh sup- 
ply of fuel and other comforts. Her next move was to 
order new furniture for the sitting-room and parlor, have 
the hall recarpeted and papered, the broken door-step 
mended, and the fence and blinds repaired and painted. 
She then took the children out, and got them new garments 
from hats to shoes. She bought herself three new dresses ; 
a neat gingham for morning wear, a delaine for afternoons, 
and something nicer for best. And before going home she 
took the children into a toy-shop ; delighting the boy with 
the skates he had so often asked for, and giving the girl 
the chief wish of her heart, a doll and doll's wardrobe — not 
forgetting some blocks for the baby. For, like a wise, as 
well as kind, mother, Mrs. Taggard desired to make their 
childhood a happy one •, something to look back upon with 
pleasure through their whole lite. Neither was John for- 



OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET. 135 



gotten ; by the aid of some old garments, for a pattern, she 
got him an entire new suit, together with stuff for dressing- 
gown and slippers. 

The day on which Mrs. Taggard expected her husband's 
return was a very busy one ; but at last the carpets were 
down, the paper hung, and everything in the best of order. 

He was expected on the five o'clock train, and Mrs. 
Taggard set the children, attired in their pretty new dresses, 
at the window to watch for papa, while she went below to 
assist Jane in preparing something extra for supper. She 
had just returned when Mr. Taggard was seen approaching 
the house. 

It looked so different from what it did when he left, 
that he stared at it in amazement, and would have hesitated 
about entering, had it not been for the name on the newly 
burnished door-plate. But he was still more astonished 
when he entered. 

"Am I in my own house, or somebody else's ? " he 
ejaculated, as he looked around the bright and pleasant 
room. 

" It is the new furniture I have been buying, " said his 
wife, smiling. " How do you like it ? " 

" Have you been running me in debt, Mary ? " 

" Not in the least, John, it was all bought with the 
money you so generously left me when you went away." 

Mr. Taggard clapped his hand into one of his pockets. 

"My goodness!" he exclaimed, in an agitated tone 
and manner, " I gave it to you out of the wrong pocket ! " 

Mrs. Taggard did not look at all astonished or disturbed 
at this announcement ; on the contrary, her countenance 
wore a very smiling and tranquil aspect. 



1 3 6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"You don't mean to say that you've spent it?" in- 
quired Mr. Taggard, desperately. 

"Why, what else should 1 do with it, John ? Y r ou told 
me to make the most of it ; and I rather think I have." 

" I am a ruined man ! " groaned Mr. Taggard. 

" Not a bit of it, my dear husband/' said his wife, cheer- 
fully ; you would n't be ruined if you had given me twice 
that amount. Besides, I have saved enough for our house- 
keeping expenses, for three months, at least. I think you 
had better give me an allowance for that purpose in future ; 
it will save us both much annoyance." 

The children, who had been led to consider what their 
mother had bought them as "presents from papa," now 
crowded eagerly around him. 

Mr. Taggard loved his children, and it would be difficult 
for anv one having the kind and tender heart that he really 
possessed, to turn away from the innocent smiles and 
caresses that were lavished upon him. 

It was a smiling group that gathered round the cheer- 
ful supper-table. And as Mr. Taggard glanced from the 
gleeful children to the smiling face of his wife, who cer- 
tainly looked ten years younger, attired in her new and 
becoming dress, he came to the conclusion that though it 
might cost something to make his family comfortable, on 
the whole, it paid. 

We do not mean to say that Mr. Taggard was entirely 
cured ; a passion so strong is not so easily eradicated. But 
when the old miserly feeling came over him, and he began 
to dole out grudgingly the means with which to make his 
family comfortable, his wife would pleasantly say : " You 



OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET. 



are taking it out of the wrong pocket, John ! " — words 
which seemed to have a magical effect upon both heart and 
purse-strings. 

"Let us not deprive ourselves of the comforts of life," 
she would often say, " nor grudge our children the innocent 
pleasures natural to youth, for the purpose of laying up for 
them the wealth that is, too often, a curse rather than a 
blessing." 



BE GOOD. 
God does not say, " Be beautiful," "Be wise," 
Be aught that man in man will overprize ; 
Only " Be good," the tender Father cries. 

We seek to mount the still-ascending stair 
To greatness, glory, and the crowns they bear ; 
We mount to fall heart-sickened in despair. 

The purposes of life misunderstood 

Baffle and wound us, but God only would 

That we should heed his simple words — -" Be good." 



"My House" and "Our 
House." 




HESE houses are opposite each other in a beau- 
tiful suburban town. " My house " is large and 
I handsome, with a cupola, and has a rich lawn 
before it. It is surrounded by a broad piazza, 



and graced and shaded by ancestral elms and huge button- 
wood trees. Its barns and stables are large and well-filled ; 
its orchards are gorgeous with fruit, in the season, and the 
fields around it seem alive with golden grain that waves in 
the wind. Everything about the place tells of long-con- 
tinued prosperity. The rich' old squire who lives there 
rides about with fine horses, and talks a great deal to his 
neighbors about "my house, my orchards, and my horses." 

His wife is evidently the lady of the region. She was 
a model housekeeper and dairy woman in the days when 
they worked the farm, and is now an oracle on many ques- 
tions. She, too, talks of " my house, my horses, and my 
estate." 

These persons each brought property to the other, and 
the two interests have, unfortunately, never flowed together 
and formed one estate as they should have done ; so there 
are always two separate interests in the house. 

Of course the property belongs, legally, to both ; but 
as each has a snug little fund laid away, the question is 

138 



\ 
/ 



MY HOUSE AND OUR HOUSE. 



always to be settled, if repairs are to be made, or horses 
or furniture bought, who shall pay for it. 

It seems but proper to the husband that carpets, and 
sofas, etc., shall be bought by his wife ; also the cows, as 
the lady is at the head of the house. But she says, " You 
walk on the carpets, sit on the sofas, and eat the cream and 
butter just as much as I do, and I see no reason why you 
should not, at least, help to pay for them." 

Such discussions often occur, but, on the whole, each 
upholds the interest of the other against outsiders, and gets 
along without open rupture. They ride about in better 
dress than their neighbors, they receive and return visits, 
and are called the leading family in town. 

But "my house," as some have named the great square 
mansion, is nobody's house but its owners'. No guest 
who can not return hospitality in equal style is asked to 
tarry for a night there. All ministers sojourning in the 
place are directed by them to the humble parsonage for 
entertainment. Every weary, homeless wanderer is pointed 
to the distant almshouse ; and a neighbor's horse or cow 
which has strayed from its own enclosure, is at once put 
into the pound by the squire's man. 

If an appeal is made for any benevolent object the 
squire says, " Go to my house and ask my wife to give you 
something." She, in turn, points the applicant to the field 
or the orchard, and says, " Go down there and ask my 
husband to give you something." So one puts it on the 
other, and nothing is given ; and neither the town nor the 
world is the better for their living. 

This is the way things are done at "my house." 



/ 



140 SABBATH READINGS. 

Across the street, under the shadow of two wide-spread- 
ing elms, stands a very modest cottage nestled in vines and 
flowers, with curtains drawn up to let in the light of God's 
blessed sun, and an ever-open door with a great chair in full 
view, holding out its time-worn arms, as if to invite and 
welcome in the weary passer-by. The birds are always re- 
membered here in their times of scarcity, and so in token 
of their gratitude, they gather in the trees and carol out 
sweet and merry songs by way of paying their bills. 

God's peace, as well as his plenty, rests on this place, 
and while its owners call it, in their hearts, " God's house," 
they speak of it to others, always as "our house." 

Twenty-five years ago a sturdy, brave-hearted young 
mechanic bought this one acre of land, and with his own 
hands dug and walled a cellar, at times when he had no 
work to do for others. When he had earned an additional 
hundred or two dollars he bought lumber and began to 
build a house. People asked him what he was going to do 
with it, and he replied that if he should live to finish it, he 
was going to live in it. 

Well, in two years the house was finished, to the last 
nail and hook. Then he went away, as it was thought, for 
a wife. In a week he returned, bringing with him some 
neat household furniture, and three persons instead of only 
one. 

He did. bring a wife — a bright-eyed, merry-hearted 
young girl — and also two aged women, "our mothers," as 
he called them. 

The first night in the house they dedicated their humble 
home — "our house" to God, and in the name of the Lord 



MY HOUSE AND OUR HOUSE. 141 

they set up their banner, praying that ever after this his 
banner over them might be love. 

Many a family moves into a new home and asks God to 
come in and prosper them, and take up his abode there ; 
but they do nothing to draw him thither. They begin for 
self, and go on for self ; and sometimes God leaves them to 
themselves. 

But the young owners of " our house " — the children of 
"our mothers"- — made their little home His home and the 
home of His poor and feeble ones. " Our mothers " now 
laid down the weapons of toil over which they had grown 
gray, and came out of the vale of honest poverty into the 
sunshine of plenty. Their hearts grew warm in this gift of 
double love. They renewed their youth. 

In their first days at their children's home, one of "our 
mothers " spoke of " Henry's new house," when he checked 
her, saying, " Never call this my house again. I built it 
for God and for all of you, and I want it always called ' our 
house/ There is ytt one thing I want done here before I 
shall feel that I have made my thank-offering to God for 
the health and strength and the work which have enabled 
me to build and pay for this house. I promised then that 
no stranger or wanderer should ever go hungry or weary 
from this door. You have made sure of a neat and sunny 
room for our friends. Now I want a bed, a chair, and a 
table put in the shed-chamber for such strangers as we 
cannot ask into the house. I want also to fill the little 
store-closet under the back stairway with provisions to give 
the needy. They will then not be our own ; and if at any 
time we should be short of money, we will not be tempted 



142 SABBATH READINGS. 



to say, <I have nothing to give/ I want to live for more 
than self, and I know you all share the feeling. I want to 
feel that God is here, and to live as if we saw him and were 
all under his actual guidance and care, and to realize that 
he sees and approves our way in life." 

Thus was "our house" opened, and thus was it kept — 
a home sanctified to humanity and to God. 

The years rolled away, not without changes, but peace 
and plenty still reign in the modest home whose owners are 
looked up to by all the town's people — -rich as well as poor 
■ — as friends and benefactors ; for all men alike need human 
sympathy and comfort. 

The young carpenter of twenty-five years ago, is now a 
prosperous builder in the great city near his home. He 
could afford to erect and occupy a house worth four times 
what the cottage cost. But he loves the place, and cannot 
tear himself from it. He has added more than one L to it, 
and he has refurnished it, and brought into it many articles 
of taste and luxury. 

When asked why he does not build a house more in 
accordance with his means, he replies :— 

"No house could be built which would be like ' our 
house.' I can never forget the night we and our mothers 
dedicated it to God in prayer and simple trust ; and ever 
since that night I have felt as if we were dwelling in the 
secret of his tabernacle, under the shadow of the Almighty. 
We might have a larger and more fashionable house, but it 
would bring a weight of care on its mistress, and steal the 
time she has made sacred to others. No other house could 
have the memories this one has ; no other house be hallowed 



MY HOUSE AND OUR HOUSE. 143 



as this house has been by the prayers of the holy and the 
blessings of the poor." 

And so the family still live on and are happy in " our 
house." Still the pastor's weary wife is relieved of church 
company, for, from force of habit, all ministers and others 
on errands of good, draw up their horses before the well- 
filled stable, and ring, for themselves, at this open door. 
Still the poor are fed from that store-clcset under the back 
stairway ; still the wanderer — though he be a wanderer in 
a double sense — rests his weary head in that shed-chamber. 

The squire wonders at the builder, because he lives in 
such a mod£st way compared with his means, and says, "If 
I were he, I'd be ashamed of that cottage which was all 
well enough when he was a young journeyman." 

The builder wonders what the squire does with all that 
great house, and why, when half a dozen rooms are empty 
there, he does n't allow himself the pleasure of company, 
and of sheltering strangers and getting the blessing they 
bring. 

The squire's wife peeps through her fine curtains, and 
says, " I wonder that pretty and intelligent woman has n't 
more taste. She might live like a lady if she pleased, and 
dress as I do ; but she pokes on just as she began, and 
dresses no better than the minister's wife, and has a rabble 
of poor, forlorn creatures whom I wouldn't let into my 
house, nor into my wood-shed, running after her for food 
and clothing, and nobody knows what." 

So you see, "my house" is literally "my house," and 
"our house" is God's house. 



A MOUNTAIN MfER MEETING 




ILL you go to meeting with me this afternoon, 
Mabel ? Come ; this is your last day here ; do 
go once before you leave the White Moun- 
tains." "What do you do in < meeting' ?" 
asked the gay, beautiful, " High Church " New York belle, 
with just a shade of contemptuous, inflection in her voice. 

" Well, — there will be no sermon ; there never is in 
the afternoon. The good minister sits in the aisle, in front 
of the pulpit, and invites any one he likes to make a prayer. 
Any other one, who feels the need of it, may request that 
he or she be mentioned personally in the petition ; and 
those who wish it may relate their experience." 

" How very funny! All the old women 'speakin* in 
meetinV and scaring themselves dreadfully. Til go. I 
dare say I shall have a good laugh, if I don't fall asleep." 

So we walked through the long, hilly street of Bethle- 
hem, in the pleasant hour before sunset, in the sweet, 
warm, hazy air of early autumn. The glory of the Lord 

144 




A MOUNTAIN PRAYER-MEETING. 145 



shone round about us ; for all the mountains were bur- 
nished, splendid, gorgeous, in purple and crimson and gold. 
Mabel's deep gray eyes grew large and luminous as her 
artist-soul drank in the ineffable beauty. 

The building was so crowded with the villagers and 
many visitors that it was with difficulty we obtained seats, 
apart from each other. Mabel found a place next to a 
young, sweet-faced country woman, and looked, with her 
flower-like face and French costume, like some rare exotic 
by the side of a humble mountain daisy. 

The minister opened the services with a few fervent, sim- 
ple words, and then said, " Brother — — , will you lead in 
prayer ? " 

A plain old country farmer knelt in the aisle before us. 
His prayer — sincere, and, I doubt not, as acceptable, be- 
cause sincere, as if it had been offered in polished language 
— made Mabel shake with laughter. 

He rose, and there was utter silence for a moment. 
Then a high, sweet woman's voice, far in front of us, sang 
out, clear as a bell, — 

" Sweet hour of prayer ! sweet hour of prayer ! 
That calls me from a world of care, 
And bids me at my Father's throne 
Make all my wants and wishes known." 

The congregation joined in ; only one verse was sung, and 
again the strange, solemn silence fell upon us. 

It was broken by the sudden rising of a lank, awkward 
bov, who uttered a few words in a frightened nasal whine. 

J > o 

This time Mabel was convulsed with laughter ; but the 
sweet singer, who saw in this utterance only the contrite 
soul of the speaker, burst forth triumphantly with — 



146 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"Oh, gift of gifts ! oh, grace of faith ! 

My God, how can it be 
That thou, who hast discerning love, 
Shouldst give that gift to me ?" 

Only one verse, as before. Then the pure notes, high 
above all the other voices, died away, and a strange-looking 

woman arose. 

"I haven't any gift of language," said she, " but I 
want to give in my testimony. I've always been a wicked 
woman; I've always gone against my conscience. I've 
made my folks at home miserable for many a long year ; 
and that's the reason God poured trouble after trouble 
down on me, till I was about to take my own life, when 
some one — it must have been one of God's angels — -went 
singing through the woods. Shall I ever forget the 
words ? — - 

" 'With tearful eyes I look around; 

Life seems a dark and stormy sea; — * n 

She stopped, her voice breaking into a hoarse sob, when 
the other sweet voice immediately went on — 

"Yet, mid the gloom, I hear a sound, — * 
A heavenly whisper, — 1 Come to me.' 

" Oh, voice of mercy ! voice of love ! 
In conflict, grief, and agony, 
Support me, cheer me from above ! 
And gently whisper — 'Come to me.'" 

I looked at Mabel. She was not laughing. A strange, 
awed expression rested upon her features ; her head was 
bowed down as the sweet-faced woman at her side rose^ 
and, turning to the last speaker, said, in a low, gentle 

voice,— 

10 



A MOUNTAIN PRAYER-MEETING. 147 



" My sister, we all thank our heavenly Father that he 
put his strong arm of protection about you while it was yet 
time ; and since you have joined with us in profession of 
your faith, there has been no one more earnest in those 
good works without which faith is nothing." 

Then reverently kneeling, she prayed that God would 
strengthen her dear sister, and give them all love and char- 
ity, one for another, and his peace, which passeth all un- 
derstanding. 

Out rang the sweet voice,— 

" Haste thee on, from grace to glory, 

Armed by faith, and winged by prayer ! 
Heaven's eternal day's before thee, 

God's own hand shall guide thee there." 

Mabel was now silently crying, and big tears were 
blinding my eyes, when a grand old man rose from his seat. 
Bent and feeble now, I could see that he had once been 
tall and stately, looking as the Puritan fathers must have 
looked when they first stepped upon " the stern and rock- 
bound coast " at Plymouth. Fine, clean-cut features, and 
eyes still blue and piercing remained, but his voice trem- 
bled painfully as he said, — ■ 

" I am ninety-four years old, and most of those I love 
have gone to the graveyard before me ; I have lived all 
these years in Bethlehem, and, boy and man, have tried to 
serve the Lord : and I owe my blessed hope in my Saviour 
to the teaching and example of my good and pious mother. ,, 
Then, with aged, trembling hands uplifted, he prayed that 
all the children present might be brought up in the nurture 
and admonition of the Lord. 



1 43 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Near us was a handsome, well-dressed man, past mid- 
dle age, who had listened with absorbed attention to all 
that had been said, and who now seemed strangely agitated. 
In a moment he arose, and then he spoke. 

" I presume that ho one here remembers a poor boy 
who nearly fifty years ago left this place to seek his fortune. 
Fatherless, motherless, with no claim upon any one here, I 
w T andered away with a heavy heart to earn my bread 
Many a time have I been exhausted, discouraged, almost 
hopeless ; but my mother had taught me to pray — her dy- 
ing gift to me was her own Bible, It has gone round the 
world with me, and God has never forsaken me. I have 
long been a rich man, and I have come once more to these 
grand hills — my childhood's home — to testify my gratitude 
to my Maker for all his goodness. I never intended to 
speak as I am now doing ; but after what I have heard and 
witnessed, I should be most ungrateful if I did not give my 
testimony and belief in the abounding love and mercy of 
God. O friends ! take me back ! Let me be one with you 
in this most sweet and touching sendee, and when I leave 
you, pray that I may never be ungrateful for the earthly 
blessings he has heaped upon me, and for the far more 
priceless gift of his Son, Jesus Christ/' 

Every one had listened to the stranger in deep silence. 
Every heart had thrilled responsive to his words. It 
seemed as if the very breath of Heaven had entered into 
the little church, cleansing and purifying each soul present, 
and filling it with inexpressible devotion, when, like a soft, 
trembling wave, the pure young voice came floating down 
the aisles, and we heard the solemn acknowledgment, — 



A MOUNTAIN PRAYER-MEETING. 



149 



U A charge to keep I have, 
A God to glorify ; 
A precious, blood-bought soul to save, 
And fit it for the sky." 

She sang alone ; a feeling too deep for utterance had 
prevented the rest from joining in, and many heads were 
bent in silent prayer and thanksgiving. 

But oh ! what did I see ? Pale as death, her eyes 
dilated, her whole frame quivering like an aspen, Mabel 
arose and essayed to speak. The muscles of her mouth re- 
fused to obey her will, but with a painful effort she faltered 
in low, broken tones, "Pray for me," and sank down upon 
her knees. 

It was the voice of God that spoke in those three little 
words, "Pray for me" uttered so low, yet distinctly heard 
in every part of the church. Joyful tears were streaming 
down many women's faces, as for the first time the singer's 
voice trembled, broke, and at last sobbed through the hum- 
ble entreaty, — 

" Just as I am — without one plea, 
But that thy blood was shed for me, 
And that thou bid'st me come to thee, 
O Lamb of God, I come." 

As she finished, a young minister who was living in the 
same house with us, and whose life had been nearly sacri- 
ficed in missionary labors, bowed in prayer. The radiance 
of Heaven was upon his face, and God spoke through him 
to the awakened soul of Mabel in a way I had never heard 
before. The words poured out in an inspired flood, carry- 
ing her soul resistless upon its mighty waves to repentance, 
faith, prayer, praise, love, joy, peace, and at last heaven! 



150 



SABBATH READINGS. 



With a solemn benediction the services were ended ; 
and when we had come out, it seemed as if the very heav- 
ens were rejoicing over the tidings which had gone up of 
the soul that day redeemed. All that was gorgeous and 
beautiful in color had taken possession of the sky. The 
clouds, like great gold and crimson banners, were moving 
high over our heads, furling and unfurling, as if carried by 
exultant angels, marching and singing their triumphant 
allelujahs. 

And Mabel, still white as an Easter lily, but with her 
deep gray eyes full of a new happiness, a steadfast resolu- 
tion to live henceforth for Christ, walked by my side, watch- 
ing the great glory of the heavens, with her arm lovingly 
entwined in mine. We did not speak ; we had no need, 
for our thoughts were in perfect accord. I had witnessed 
the wonderful mystery of her instantaneous " change of 
heart ; " I knew it was well with her. 

Beautiful, gay, fashionable, the pet of society, I knew 
her also to be a staunch upholder of all that w T as noble, 
good, and pure, and I felt a thorough conviction that she 
had indeed given herself up body and soul to Him who had 
chosen to send his Holy Spirit into her heart, as she was 
going out of the little village which bore the blessed name 
of Bethlehem. 



Only a Husk. 




OM DARCY, yet a young man, had grown to 
be a very hard one. Although naturally kind- 
I hearted, active, and intelligent, he lacked 
strength of will to resist temptation, and had 



therefore fallen a victim to intemperance. He had lost his 
place as foreman of the great machine-shop, and what 
money he now earned came from odd jobs of tinkering 
which he was able to do here and there at private houses ; 
for Tom was a genius as well as a mechanic, and when his 
head was steady enough, he could mend a clock or clean a 
watch as w r ell as he could set up and regulate a steam-en- 
gine, and this latter he could do better than any other man 
ever employed by the Scott Falls Manufacturing Company. 

One day Tom was engaged to mend a broken mowing- 
machine and reaper, for which he received five dollars ; and 
on the following morning he started for his old haunt, the 
village tavern. He knew that his wife sadly needed the 
money, and that his two little children were absolutely suf- 
fering for want of clothing, and that morning he held a de- 
bate with the better part of himself, but the better part had 
become weak, and the demon of appetite carried the day. 

So away to the tavern Tom went, w r here, for two or 
three hours, he felt the exhilarating effects of the alcoholic 
draught, and fancied himself happy, as he could sing and 
laugh ; but, as usual, stupefaction followed, and the man 

151 



152 



SABBATH READINGS. 



died out. He drank while he could stand, and then lay- 
down in a corner, where his companions left him. 

It was almost midnight, when the landlord's wife came 
to the barroom to see what kept her husband up, and she 
quickly saw Tom. 

"Peter," said she, not in a pleasant mood, "why don't 
you send that miserable Tom Darcy home ? He's been 
hanging around here long enough." 

Tom's stupefaction was not sound sleep. The dead 
coma had left his brain, and the calling of his name stung 
his senses to keen attention. He had an insane love of 
rum, but he did not love the landlord. In other years, 
Peter Tindar and he had wooed the same maiden, — 
Ellen Goss, — and he had won her, leaving Peter to take up 
with the sharp-tempered damsel who had brought him the 
tavern, and Tom knew that lately the tapster had gloated 
over the misery of the woman who had once discarded him. 

"Why don't you send him home?" demanded Mrs. 
Tindar, with an impatient stamp of her foot. 

" Hush, Betsey, he's got money. Let him be, and he'll 
be sure to spend it before he goes home. I'll have the 
kernel of that nut, and his wife may have the husk." 

Betsey turned away, and shortly afterward Tom Darcy 
lifted himself up on his elbow. 

" Ah, Tom, are you awake? " 

" Yes." 

" Then rouse up and have a warm glass." 
Tom got upon his feet and steadied himself. 
" No ; I won't drink any more to-night." 
" It won't hurt you, Tom — just one glass." 



ONLY A HUSK. 



153 



"I know it won't ! " said Tom, buttoning up his coat 
by the solitary button left. " I know it won't !" 

And with this he went out into the chill air of midnight. 
When he got away from the shadow of the tavern, he 
stopped and looked up at the stars, and then he looked 
down upon the earth. 

"Aye," he muttered, grinding his heel in the gravel, 
" Peter Tindar is taking the kernel, and leaving poor Ellen 
the worthless husk, — a husk more than worthless ! and I 
am helping him do it. I am robbing my wife of joy, rob- 
bing my dear children of honor and comfort, and robbing 
myself of love and life — just that Peter Tindar may have 
the kernel, and Ellen the husk ! We'll see ! " 

It was a revelation to the man. The tavern-keeper's 
speech, not meant for his ears, had come on his senses as 
fell the voice of the Risen One upon Saul of Tarsus. 

" We'll see I " he said, setting his foot firmly upon the 
ground ; and then he wended his way homeward. 

On the following morning he said to his wife, " Ellen, 
have you any coffee in the house ? " 

" Yes, Tom." She did not tell him that her sister had 
given it to her. She was glad to hear him ask for coffee, 
instead of the old, old cider. 

" I wish you would make me a cup, good and strong." 

There was really music in Tom's voice, and the wife 
set about her work with a strange flutter at her heart. 

Tom drank two cups of the strong fragrant coffee, and 
then went out, with a resolute step, and walked straight to 
the great manufactory, where he found Mr. Scott in his 
office. 



154 SABBATH READINGS. 



" Mr Scott, I want to learn my trade over again." 
"Eh, Tom, what do you mean?" 

" I mean that it's Tom Darcy come back to the old 
place, asking forgiveness for the past, and hoping to do bet- 
ter in the future." 

"Tom/' cried the manufacturer, starting forward and 
grasping his hand, " are you in earnest ? Is it really the 
old Tom?'' 

" It's what's left of him, sir, and we'll have him whole 
and strong very soon, if you'll only set him at work." 

"Work! Aye, Tom, and bless you, too. There is an 
engine to be set up and tested to-day. Come with me." 

Tom's hands were weak and unsteady, but his brain 
was clear, and under his skilful supervision the engine was 
set up and tested ; but it was not perfect. There were 
mistakes which he had to correct, and it was late in the 
evening when the work was complete. 

" How is it now, Tom ? " asked Mr. Scott, as he came 
into the testing-house and found the workmen ready to 
depart. 

" She's all right, sir. You may give your warrant with- 
out fear." 

"God bless you, Tom! You don't know how like 
music the old voice sounds. Will you take your old place 
again?" 

" Wait till Monday morning, sir. If you will offer it 
to me then, I will take it/' 

At the little cottage, Ellen Darcy' s fluttering heart was 
sinking. That morning, after Tom had gone, she found a 
dollar bill in the coffee-cup. She knew that he left it for 



ONLY A HUSK. 



155 



her. She had been out and bought tea and sugar, and 
flour and butter, and a bit of tender steak ; and all day long 
a ray of light had been dancing and glimmering before her, 
— a ray from the blessed light of other days. With prayer 
and hope she had set out the tea-table, and waited ; but the 
sun went down and no Tom came. Eight o'clock — and 
almost nine. 

Hark ! The old step ! quick, strong, eager for home. 
Yes, it was Tom, with the old grime upon his hands, and 
the odor of oil upon his garments. 

" I have kept you waiting, Nellie." 

"Tom!" 

" I did not mean to, but the work hung on." 

" Tom ! Tom ! You have been to the old shop ! " 

" Yes, and I'm bound to have the old place, and " 

« Oh, Tom!" 

And she threw her arms around his neck, and pressed 
a kiss upon his lips. 

" Nellie, darling, wait a little, and you shall have the 
old Tom back again." 

" Oh, I have him now ! God bless you, my husband ! " 

It was a banquet, that supper — with the bright angels 
of peace, and love, and joy, spreading their wings over the 
board. 

On the following Monday morning, Torn resumed his 
place at the head of the great machine-shop, and those who 
thoroughly knew him had no fear of his going back into the 
slough of joylessness. 

A few days later, Tom met Peter Tindar on the street. 

« Eh, Tom, old boy, what's up ? " 



156 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"I am up, right side up." 

"Yes, I see; but I hope you haven't forsaken us, 
Tom." 

u I have forsaken only the evil you have in store, Peter. 
The fact is, I concluded that my wife and little ones had 
fed on husks long enough, and if there was a good kernel 
left in my heart, or in my manhood, they should have it." 

u Ah, you heard what I said to my wife that night." 

" Yes, Peter ; and I shall be grateful to you for it as 
long as I live. My remembrance of you will always be 
relieved by that tinge of warmth and brightness." 



Ruined at Home 



XT is at home that the ruin of a soul begins.' ' 
"At home ! " We hear the response in tones 
of pained surprise or indignant denial from 
many voices. " It is a hard saying and cruel." 
" It may hurt like a blow many sad hearts ; but if it be 
true — what then ? " 

" It is not true ! I can point to you a dozen cases 
within my own range of observation to disprove the asser- 
tion — to young men who have gone astray in spite of the 
careful training and good example of religious homes — in 
spite of all the best of mothers and the wisest of fathers 
could do." 

Yes, we hear such things said every day ; but feel cer- 
tain there is an error somewhere, a defect in your observa- 
tion. Were you in the homes of these young men from 
the beginning ? Did you observe the personal bearing of 
their parents toward them — know their walk and conversa- 
tion? If nay, then you are not competent, with your 
instances, to disprove our assertion. 

A small error at the beginning of a series of calculations 
in applied mechanics may lead to a great disaster ; the 
slightest variation from a right line at the beginning will 
throw a projectile hundreds of yards away from its object. 
It is in the little things at home, the almost unnoticed de- 
partures from order and good government, the neglects 

i57 



158 



SABBATH READINGS. 



arising from parental self-indulgence, the weakness of love 
that fails to nip a fault in the bud ; and many other things 
that might be instanced, which turn the young feet into 
ways of life that, as the years go by, lead farther and farther 
from safety and happiness. 

The Bible, experience, and reason all declare that the 
future of a child depends upon his early training. If this 
is bad, the chances are nearly all against him. 

"But," we hear it said, " children raised under the 
worst influences often make good and useful men." 

The cases are exceptional, and stand out in strong con- 
trast to the general rule. And so we go back to what was 
declared in the beginning, that the ruin of a soul begins ?t 
home. How many instances crowd upon the memory! 
Let us take a few at this time for their lesson and their 
warning. 

Not long ago, in one of our principal cities, an almost 
broken-hearted mother parted from her son in the court- 
house, and was taken fainting to her home, while he was 
thrust into a van and conveyed to prison. His crime was 
stealing. Society held up its hands in pity and amazement, 
for the young man's father and mother were highly respect- 
able people, and good church members, as the saying is. 
The father's business reputation stood high. People said 
of him : " His word is as good as his bond." And yet his 
son was a condemned thief. He had stolen from his em- 
ployer. 

Did the ruin in this case begin at home ? — Yes ! It 
was at home the son learned to be dishonest, and he 
learned it from his mother ! Let us rehearse a few of the 



RUINED AT HOME. 



159 



lessons, in precept and example, that were given to the boy. 
We begin when he was just five years of age. The boy, 
Karl, was standing near his mother, Mrs. Omdorff, one 
day, when he heard her say to his aunt : " Barker has 
cheated himself. Here are four yards of ribbon, instead of 
three. I asked for three yards, and paid for only three; 
but this measures full four yards." 

The boy listened and waited for what was to come next. 
He loved his mother, and trusted in her. 

" What are you going to do about it ? " inquired the 
aunt. 

"Keep it, of course," answered Mrs. Omdorff; "Barker 
will never be the wiser. He makes enough out of us, dear 
knows." And she rolled the ribbon about her fingers. 

Karl was a little surprised. It did not seem like his 
mother, nor in accordance with what she had often said to 
him about truth and honesty, but he had faith in her, and 
was sure that she could do nothing wrong. His Aunt Ruth, 
of whom he was very fond, and who had great influence 
over him, was a weak woman in some respects, and much 
more inclined to take the current of other's opinions than 
to give herself the trouble of opposition. Her innate sense 
of honor was a little disturbed at her sister's views of the 
case ; but she failed to say the right words which were in 
her thoughts, and which, if spoken, might have helped the 
boy to see what was just and right. 

A day or two afterward, Karl heard his mother say : " I 
saved a car ticket this morning." 

u How ? " inquired her sister. 

"The conductor forgot to ask for it." 



i6o SABBATH READINGS. 



"Why didn't you give it to him, mamma ? " asked Karl. 

"It was his business to look after his passengers/' re- 
plied Mrs. Omdorff, who felt rather uncomfortable at this 
question from her little boy. " It will teach him a lesson." 

Karl thought a moment, and then said: "But he won't 
know anything about it." 

" Oh, you're too sharp ! " exclaimed his mother, with a 
laugh. "I wasn't talking to you, anyhow." 

" Little pitchers have big ears," said Aunt Ruth, echo- 
ing her sister's laugh. 

And so the matter was pushed aside, neither mother 
nor aunt imagining that the bright and beautiful boy they 
both loved so tenderly had received a lesson in dishonesty 
not soon to be forgotten. 

"I do believe," said Mrs. Omdorff, not long afterward, 
as she sat counting over some money, "that Poole has 
given me the wrong change." 

" Karl was in the room and heard her remark. 

"Let me see," she- added, going over the money again. 
"Two and a half, three, four and three-quarters. It's a 
fact ; I gave him a ten-dollar bill, and here are four and 
three-quarters change." 

"What did the goods amount to? " asked her sister. 

"There were eleven yards of muslin at eighteen ; that's 
a dollar and ninety-eight cents. Two yards of silk at a 
dollar and a half, and an eighth of a yard of velvet one 
dollar — making just five dollars and ninety-eight cents. If 
it had come to six dollars, my right change would have been 
four; but he has given me four and three-quarters." 

Then, in a tone of satisfaction, she added: "I'm that 
much richer, you see, Ruth," 



RUINED AT HOME. 



161 



Her sister smiled, but did not utter the disapproval that 
was in her heart. Karl listened and took all in. A little 
while afterward Mrs. Omdorff got up and rang the bell, 
saying, as she did so, with a short gurgling laugh, that 
seemed ashamed of itself: "I guess we'll have a little ice- 
cream — at Poole's expense." 

Aunt Ruth shook her finger, and said feebly : " Oh, 
that's too bad!" But Karl was not able to see whether 
she approved or disapproved. The ice-cream was sent for, 
and enjoyed by the child. While the sweet taste was yet 
on his tongue, he heard his mother say: "I'm very much 
obliged to Poole for his treat — it's delicious." 

Is it strange that the boy's perception of right and 
wrong should be obscured ? or that, in a day or two after- 
ward, he should come in from the street with an orange in 
his hand, and, on being questioned about it, reply: "A 
woman let it drop from her basket, and I picked it up. 
She didn't see it drop, mamma." 

" But why did n't you call after her ? " asked Aunt Ruth. 

"'Cause I didn't want to," answered the child. "She 
dropped it. I did n't knock it off." 

Mrs. Omdorff was not satisfied with the conduct of her 
child ; and yet she was amused at what she called his cute- 
ness, and laughed instead of reproving him for an act that 
was in spirit a theft. 

So the child's education for crime was begun — his ruin 
initiated The low moral sense of his mother was perpet- 
ually showing itself in some disregard for others' rights. A 
mistake made in her favor was never voluntarily corrected, 
and her pleasure at any gain of this kind was rarely con- 

ii 



SABBATH READINGS. 



cealed. " He cheated himself," was a favorite saying, 
heard by Karl almost every week ; and as he grew older he 
understood its meaning more clearly. 

Mr. Omdorff was a man of higher integrity than his 
wife and just in dealing to the smallest fraction. " Foolish 
about little things — more nice than wise," as she often said, 
when he disapproved of her way of doing things, as was 
sometimes the case. Mrs. Omdorff had learned to be 
guarded in her speech when he was at home ; and so he 
remained in ignorance of the fatal perversions going on in 
the mind of his child. 

As the boy grew up his father's supervision became 
more direct. He was careful about his associates, and 
never permitted him to be away from home without know- 
ing where and with whom he was. He knew but too well 
the danger of evil association ; and guarded his boy with 
jealous solicitude. 

Alas ! he dreamed not of the evil influences at home ; 
never imagined that the mother was destroying in .her son 
that nice sense of honor without which no one is safe ; nor 
that she had taught him to disregard the rights of others, 
to take mean advantages, and to appropriate what did not 
belong to him whenever it could be done with absolute cer- 
tainty of concealment. 

We do not mean to say that such were the direct and 
purposed teachings of his mother. She would have been 
horror stricken at the mere suggestion. But she had so 
taught him by example. In heart she was not honest ; and 
in many of hertransactions she was as much a thief as if 
she had robbed a till. Retaining what belongs to another, 



RUINED AT HOME. 



163 



simply because it has come into our hands by mistake, is as 
much a theft in its spirit as purposed stealing; and the fine 
lady who keeps the change to which she is not entitled, or 
the yard of ribbon measured to her in error, is just as 
criminal, as the sneak-thief who gets into her hall through 
a neglected door and steals her husband's overcoat. The 
real quality of an act lies in the intent. 

Is it any wonder that amid such home influences the 
boy did not show, as N he advanced toward maturity, a high 
sense of honor ? That he should be mean and selfish and 
dishonest in little things ? "As the twig is bent the tree is 
inclined." Evil seed will produce evil fruit. 

Society punished and execrated the unhappy young man, 
and pitied his wretched mother, little dreaming that by her 
hand his prison doors had been opened. 

Another instance of the baneful influence that may ex- 
ist at home is to be found in the ruin of a young man who 
recently died in one of the lowest and vilest haunts of the 
city. He had been well educated, and grew to manhood 
with a fine sense of honor. His mother was a woman of 
rare culture, and beloved by every one in the circle where 
she moved. All the moral sentiments of her son had been 
carefully fostered and developed, and when he reached man- 
hood no one showed a fairer promise. 

But it was not long before a shadow fell across his life. 
He had learned one thing at home that was destined to 
work his ruin — he had learned to love the taste of wine. 

His father belonged to a class of men who considered 
wine drinking a mark of good breeding. He knew all 
about wines, and had a weak vanity in being thought a 



1 



1 64 SABBATH READINGS. 



connoisseur. If he had a friend to dinner, he would bring 
out two or three kinds, and discuss them through half the 
meal. He called the men who were ranging themselves 
against the terrible evil of intemperance, and seeking to 
stay its baleful course, "poor fanatics. " He talked of pure 
wines and liquors as harmless, and gave them to his son at 
suitable times and occasions, moderately; only guarding 
him by warnings against excess. 

But these warnings went for nothing as appetite in- 
creased. At twelve years of age the boy was content with 
a single glass of light wine at his dinner ; at eighteen he 
wanted two glasses, and at twenty-one three. By this time 
he had acquired convivial habits, and often drank freely 
with other young men of his age. His mother was the first 
to take the alarm ; but his father was slow to believe that 
his son was in danger. The sad truth broke upon him at 
last in a painful humiliation. At a large party in his own 
house the young man became so badly intoxicated that he 
had to be removed from the company. 

From that unhappy period wine was banished from the 
father's table. But it was too late ! The work of ruin had 
progressed too far. At twenty-seven the wretched young 
man died, as we have said, in one of the lowest and vilest 
dens of the city. 

We could give many instances like this. Here, at 
home, is the chief source of that wide-spread ruin by in- 
temperance, that is every year robbing society of thousands 
of young men, who, by education, culture, and social stand- 
ing are fitted for useful and honorable positions. They are 
ruined at home. Not in one case in ten does a young man 



RUINED AT HOME. 



165 



acquire the taste for drink in a saloon or tavern, but at 
home — if not in his own home, in that of some friend. We 
fear that the drinking saloons men set up in their drawing- 
rooms, and to which they invite the young and old of both 
sexes, do more to deprave the taste and lead to intemper- 
ance than all the licensed taverns in the land. It is here 
that the appetite is formed and fostered — here that the ap- 
prenticeship to drunkenness is served. Year by year the 
sons of our wealthiest and most intelligent and influential 
citizens are tempted and led astray by the drinking customs 
of society — ruined at home. How few of the sons of suc- 
cessful men rise to the level their fathers have gained. 
How many, alas ! sink so far below this level that the eyes 
ache to look down upon them ! 



HOR many years I had been a follower of strange 
gods, and a lover of this world and its vanities. 
I was self-righteous, and thought I had religion 
of my own which was better than that of the 
Bible. I did not know God. and did not serve him. Prayer 
was forgotten, public worship neglected ; and worldly mo- 
rality was the tree which brought forth its own deceptive 
fruit. 

But when I shared parental responsibility, and our boy 
was growing up, our love for him made us anxious about 
his welfare and future career. His questions often puz- 
zled me, and the sweet and earnest manner in which he in- 
quired of his poor sinful father to know more about his 
Heavenly Father, and that "-happy land, far, far away," of 
which his nurse had taught him, proved to me that God 
had given me a great blessing in the child. 

A greater distrust of myself, and a greater sense of my 
inability to assure my boy of the truth contained in the 
simple little prayers that I had learned from my mother in 
1 66 



HOW IT WAS BLOTTED OUT. 167 



childhood, gradually caused me to reflect. Still, I never 
went to church ; had not even a Bible in the house. What 
was I to teach my boy, — Christ and him crucified, or the 
doctrines I had tried to believe ? 

One of his little friends died, then another, then his 
uncle. All these deaths .made an impression on the boy. 
He rebelled against it; wanted to know " why God had 
done it ? " It was hard that God should take away his 
friends ; he wished he would not do it. I, of course, had 
to explain the best I could. One evening he was Tying on 
the bed partly undressed ; my wife and I were seated by 
the fire. She had been telling me that Willie had not been 
a good boy that day, and I had reproved him for it. All 
was quiet, when suddenly he broke out in a loud crying 
and sobbing, which surprised us. I went to him, and 
asked him what was the matter. 

" I don't want it there, father ; I don't want it there," 
said the child. 

" What, my child, what is it ? " 

" Why, father, I do n't want the angels to write down 
in God's book all the bad things I have done to-day. I 
don't want it there ; I wish it could be wiped out ;" and 
his distress increased. What could I do ? I did not be- 
lieve, but yet I had been taught the way. I had to console 
him, so I said,— 

"Well, you need not cry ; you can have it all wiped out 
in a minute if you want." 

" How, father, how ? " 

"Why, get down on your knees, and ask God, for 
Christ's sake, to wipe it out, and he will do it." 



i68 



SABBATH READINGS. 



I did not have to speak twice. He jumped out of bed, 
saying, '-'Father, won't you come and help me?" 

Xow came the trial. The boy's distress was so gTeat, 
and he pleaded so earnestly, that the man who had never 
once bowed before God in spirit and in truth, got down on 
his knees beside that little child, and asked God to wipe 
away his sins ; and perhaps, though my lips did not speak 
it, my heart included my own sins too. We then rose, and 
he lay down in his bed again. In a few moments more he 
said, — 

" Father, are you sure it is all wiped out ? " 

Oh, how the acknowledgment grated upon my unbeliev- 
ing heart, as the words came to my mouth, — "Why, yes, 
my son ; the Bible says that if from your heart you ask 
God for Christ's sake to do it, and if you are really sorry 
for what you have done, it shall be all blotted out." 

A smile of pleasure passed over his face, as he quietly 
asked, — 

" What did the angel blot it out with ? With a sponge ? " 
Again was my whole soul stirred within me, as I an- 
swered, — 

" No, but with the precious blood of Christ. The blood 
of Christ cleanseth from all sin.'' 

The fountains had at last burst forth. They could not 
be checked, and my cold heart was melted within me. I 
felt like a poor guilty sinner, and, turning away, said, — 

" My dear wife, we must first find God, if we want to 
show him to our children. We cannot show them the wav, 
unless we know it ourselves." 

And in the silent hour of the night I bowed beside that 



HOW IT WAS BLOTTED OUT. 169 



dear boy, and prayed, a Lord, I believe, help thou mine un- 
belief!" My wife, too, united with me, and we prayed 
jointly for ourselves and our child. And God heard our 
prayers, and received us, as he always does those who seek 
him w T ith the whole heart. 



Never Indorse. 



X SHALL not soon forget the family of Israel 
Day, who lived neighbor to my father when I 
was a boy. Mr. Day was working out as a 
laborer, and as he had a large family dependent 
upon his earnings for support, and sometimes it was difficult 
in our neighborhood to find employment, the family was 
poor, and the strictest economy had to be practiced to 
furnish the bare necessities of life. 

I often wondered how it happened that such a man as 
Mr. Day should be so poor. He had no intemperate or 
extravagant habits, and was a man of more than common 
education, and there was an air of intelligence and refine- 
ment about the entire family that commanded the respect 
of their neighbors. Mr. Day was industrious, but always 
seemed to me a man who had no ambition in life, and who 
expected and desired no more than a mere subsistence for 
his family. No one in the neighborhood knew anything of 
his history. The family had come from another State a 
few years previous, and while polite and friendly, they were 
very uncommunicative as to their former life, and there was 
something about them that forbade inquisitiveness. 

I was at this time sixteen years old, and on very intimate 
terms with Mr. Day's family. At the time of my story he 
was helping my father on the farm for a few days and 
boarding with us. One day when we came in from our 

170 



NEVER INDORSE. 



171 



forenoon work, we found 'Squire Black was to take dinner 
with us, and as he was reputed to be the wealthiest man in 
the township, we felt quite honored. He was a very genial 
man and an excellent talker, and had an adroit way of flat- 
tering and making every one feel easy in his company. 

On this occasion Jie made himself very agreeable ; he 
praised the neat appearance of the farm and buildings, 
complimented mother on her good cooking, called me a fine, 
manly fellow, gave some small change to the children, and 
by the time dinner was over had gained the good will of the 
entire family. 

After dinner Mr. Black asked to see the stock and ex- 
amine the arrangement of the barn and outbuildings, and 
as father took pride in having good, well-fed stock and one 
of the most conveniently arranged barns in the county, he 
was glad to show him around, and was much pleased with 
the hearty commendation w r hich Mr. Black bestowed upon 
them. 

He finally made known the object of his visit ; he had 
found a piece of very desirable property for sale, low, so 
that there was no question that within less than a year he 
could clear several thousand dollars on it, but he must pay 
all cash down and he lacked two thousand dollars of having 
enough money to pay for it. He wished father to become 
security for him for one year, as he had found a party who 
was willing to lend him the amount if his signature could 
be had to the note. 

He did not give father time to think or scarcely to an- 
swer his questions, but took out his pocketbook and handed 
him a paper, supposing it to be the note which he had 



1/2 SABBATH READINGS. 

drawn up, and signed by himself, all ready for father's sig- 
nature. I verily believe that if the paper had been what 
Squire Black thought it to be, father could not have refused 
to sign it ; but it so happened that he had made a mistake 
and left the note at home and had substituted for it another 
paper. 

A shade of vexation passed over the 'Squire's face when 
he discovered the mistake, but he at once recovered his 
good humor and said, " Never mind ; I will call again this 
evening," and hastily mounted his horse and rode away. 

Father looked troubled, and turning to me, said, " I do 
not like to indorse for any one, but 'Squire Black will be 
insulted if I refuse, and as he is rich I suppose there can be 
no risk about it. It is only complying with a legal form, 
and I suppose I shall be obliged to do it ; but I wish he had 
not asked me to do so." 

Before I could reply, the barn door opened and Mr. 
Day came out ; he was pale and deeply agitated, and when 
he spoke I should not have recognized his voice. Calling 
my father by name, he said, " i believe that you are in 
danger, and if you will listen to me I will give you a chap- 
ter from my own history that I had never intended should 
be known to any in this neighborhood." 

Father motioned for me to leave, thinking that Mr. Day 
wished to speak to him alone. He noticed it, however, and 
said, " No, let him stay, for one cannot learn too soon the 
lesson that my experience teaches. I would be willing that 
it should be published to the world if thereby some could 
be saved from my bitter experience. I overheard, as you 
know, what 'Squire Black said to you. Listen to my story 



Copyrighted by M . A . Vroman, 1905. 

Paul at Athens. 



NEVER INDORSE. 



173 



and then decide as to whether you will put your name on 
his note. 

" Fifteen years ago, when I was married, I was not the 
poor man that you now know me to be. My father gave 
me as my share of his property two thousand dollars, which 
I had increased to three, and my wife received as her wed- 
ding portion one thousand dollars. We were both strong 
and willing to work, and ambitious to succeed in the w r orld, 
and we bought a good farm, running in debt a few hundred 
dollars. For several years we were greatly prospered. YVe 
had good health, and the seasons were favorable, so that we 
grew heavy crops and obtained fair prices for them. 

" At the end of five years we had paid off our debt and 
had nearly one thousand dollars in the bank, and we felt 
that it would be safe to build a new house, although we ex- 
pected to put more than the amount of money on hand 
into it. 

" In the meantime there had come into the neighbor- 
hood one of the most companionable men I ever met. He 
was familiarly known as Cap t. Cole. He had been a law- 
yer, but had been appointed by the General Government 
to a lucrative office which he held for some years, and had 
the reputation of being very wealthy. He lived in good 
style, and was a general favorite in all the community. 

"When my house was finished I found myself in debt 
seven hundred dollars, and as I had given the contract to a 
carpenter, he to furnish everything, he-needed all his money. 
I went to the bank to borrow the amount until I could find 
some one who would let me have it for one or two years, 
and not being accustomed to borrow money, it did not 



174 SABBATH READINGS. 



occur to me that an indorser would be necessary, until the 
cashier of the bank informed me that it was their invariable 
custom to require security. Capt. Cole, who happened to 
be in at the time, overheard the conversation and came for- 
ward with a pleasant 'Good morning/ saying, 'I shall be 
only too happy to indorse for my friend, Mr. Day/ I felt 
both grateful and flattered, and when a few months later I 
happened to be in the bank when he wanted an indorser, I 
was glad to return the favor. 

" We had two years of prosperity, and I paid the debt 
on my house. I now determined to build a fine barn, and 
as I had always paid my debts easily and could not well 
get along with my old barn until I had saved the money to 
build the new one, I determined to borrow one thousand 
dollars, and happening to meet Capt. Cole, I asked him if 
he knew where I could get that amount for three years. 
He told me he did, and offered to become my security. 
The money was borrowed and my barn begun. 

"A few weeks later Capt. Cole called to see me. Like 
'Squire Black to-day, he seemed delighted with everything 
he saw. His flattery put me in the best possible humor, 
and when he asked me to indorse a note of $ 5,000 for sixty 
days, and assured me that he could meet it (or even twice 
as much) promptly, to the day, I consented against my 
better judgment, and affixed my signature to the note. 
That act ruined me. Before the sixty days expired I 
learned that he was bankrupt. My farm was sold at a sac- 
rifice, under the hammer, and when I paid the thousand 
dollars which I had borrowed to build the barn with, I was 
left penniless. 



NEVER INDORSE. 



175 



" With my history in your possession, do you wonder 
that I was alarmed to-day when I saw you about to fall into 
the same trap ? I tell you I have a right to feel deeply on 
this subject. Would that I could make my voice heard by 
every young man in the land. I would say to him, shun as 
you would a serpent this evil which has brought ruin to so 
many families. I realize fully what it means to put my 
name on another man's paper, and it is just this — that I 
assume all the risks of his business, without any voice in its 
management or any possible chance of profit if he is success- 
ful ; but with a fearful certainty that if from any cause he 
makes a failure, my earnings must make it good, even 
though it reduces my family to beggary. Since my own 
misfortune I have made this a matter of study, and I find 
that a very large per cent, of the business failures, of the 
country (and nearly all among farmers) are due to this 
practice/' 

The remainder of my story is soon told. My father 
was deeply impressed by Mr. Day's story, and before night 
I was dispatched to 'Squire Black's with a note from father 
stating that after carefully considering the matter he had 
decided not to sign the note. In less than a year after this 
'Squire Black was declared a bankrupt, and in the final 
settlement of his business it did not pay ten cents on the 
dollar. 

Father felt that he owed a debt of gratitude to Mr. 
Day, and he presented him with a good team and helped 
him to rent a farm. This encouraged him, and he worked 
so industriously and managed so prudently that in a few 
years he was able to buy a small farm and has since been 
able to support his family comfortably, 



176 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Many years have passed since these events occurred, 
and I am now past middle life, but I have never ceased to 
be thankful for the lesson taught me by Mr. Day, and in 
fulfilling his wish I would repeat the lesson which the story 
teaches — never indorse. 




LBERT MOORE, at the age of twenty-five, 
took Alice Warren for his wife. He had been 
in the army — fought through from Bull's Bluff 
to Richmond — had come out with a captain's 



commission. He had come from the army with but little 
money ; but he had a good trade, a stout pair of hands, and 
had borrowed no trouble for the future. Alice had saved 
up a few hundred dollars from her wages as a teacher, and 
when the twain had become husband and wife they found, 
upon a careful inventory, that they had enough to furnish 
a small house comfortably. Albert proposed that they 
should hire a tenement in the city; but Alice thought they 
had better secure a pretty cottage in the suburbs — a cot- 
tage which they might, perhaps, in time, make their own. 

Albert had no disposition to argue the question, so the 
cottage was found and secured. It was a pleasant, rural 
location, and so connected with the city by rail, that Albert 
found no difficulty in going to and from his workshop. 

During her five years' experience in school-teaching 
n in 



1 7 8 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Alice had learned many things, and having been an orphan 
from an early age, she had made the problems of real life 
one of her chief studies ; and what she had learned in this lat- 
ter department served her well in her new station. After 
marriage she found Albert to be just the man she had 
known him to be in other years. He was kind to a fault ; 
free-hearted and generous ; ready always to answer the call 
of friendship ; and prone to pluck the flowers that bloom 
to-day, regardless of what may be nurtured to bloom to- 
morrow. 

They had been married but a few months when Alice 
found he was cutting his garments according to his daily 
supply of cloth. Xot a shred was he likely to save up from 
the cuttings for an extra garment for a rainy day to come. 

" Albert," she said to him one evening, " do you know 
we ought to be laying up a little something ? " 

Albert looked up from his paper and waited for his'wife 
to explain. 

"I think I heard you tell Mr. Greenough that you had 
no money — that you had paid out your last dollar this very 
afternoon ? " 

u Exactly, my dear ; but you know to-morrow is pay- 
day." 

"And you have spent your last month's earnings ? " 
u Yes." 

A brief silence ensued, which Albeit broke. 

" Come, Alice, you've got something on your mind. 
Out with it — I'll listen.'' 

And then Alice, in a smiling, pleasant way, went on to 
tell her husband that they ought to be laying up something. 



A LIFE LESSON. 



179 



Albert smiled in turn, and asked how such a thing could 
be done when it cost all he earned to live. 

u You earn three dollars and a half a day," said Alice. 
"Yes." 

"George Summers earns only three dollars a day." 
" You are right." 

"And yet he lives and does not run in debt." 

" But he is forced to deny himself many little comforts 
which we enjoy." 

"And the one great comfort which we might enjoy we 
are throwing away." 

" How is that, Alice." 

" The comfort of a little sum in the bank, which we 
should see growing toward the answering of future wants." 

Albert could not see how it was to be done ; and Alice 
feared that a lesson of empty words might be wasted. She 
knew that his ambition needed a substantial prop. Never, 
of his own accord, would he commence to save by littles. 
He did not estimate money in that way. Had some kind 
fairy dropped into his hand a five-twenty bond for five hun- 
dred dollars, he would have put it away gladly ; and with 
such a nest-egg in the start, he might have sought to add 
to the store. But he could see no hope in a dollar bill, and 
much less could he discover the nucleus of a grand saving 
in a fifty-cent piece. 

With Alice it was different. From her meager earn- 
ings as school-teacher she had in .less than five years, saved 
up three hundred dollars ; and the first saving she had put 
by was a silver dime. She knew what little by little could 
do, and she was determined to show it to her husband. 



i8o 



SABBATH READINGS. 



She must be patient and persevering, and these qualities 
she possessed in an eminent degree. It was to be the 
grand undertaking of the first years of her married life, and 
to do it she would bend every available energy. She 
planned that if possible she would get hold of that fifty 
cents every day ; or, if she could not do that she would do 
the best she could. 

Generous, frank, loyal, and loving, Albert was an easy 
prey to the wiles of a wife loyal and loving as himself. He 
gave her money when she asked for it ; and she asked for 
it when she thought he had any to give. 

And here let me say that Alice knew her husband 
would not run in debt. That was an evil they both arrayed 
themselves against in the outset. When Albert's purse 
was empty he bought nothing ; but when it was full he was 
apt to buy more than he needed. Alice knew all this and 
governed herself accordingly. 

" I think," said Alice, one evening, " that I must fix 
over my old brown cashmere for winter, I should like a new 
one, but I don't suppose you can afford it." 

Albert looked grieved. The idea that he could not 
afford his wife a new dress ! 

But such a one as she wanted would cost twenty-five or 
thirty dollars. 

"If you want it, get it," said Albert emphatically. "I 
will let you have twenty dollars from this month's pay, and 
the balance you shall have, next month." 

Alice got the thirty dollars, but she did not get the new 
dress. By the outlay of five dollars for new trimmings she 
contrived to fix over the brown cashmere so that it looked 
every bit as good as new, 



A LIFE LESSON. 



181 



And so Alice worked. Sometimes she asked her hus- 
band for ten cents, sometimes for fifty cents, sometimes for 
a dollar, and sometimes for more, and at the end of a year, 
upon carefully reckoning up, she found that she had man- 
aged to get hold of rather more than fifty cents a day ; but 
she had done it by denying herself of many things, some of 
which seemed really needful. 

The result of the first year's effort inspired Alice with 
new life and vigor. She had saved one hundred and fifty 
dollars, and had invested it in government funds. Through 
the influence of a dear friend who was in a banking estab- 
lishment, and to whom she had confided her secret, she 
was enabled to get the bonds at their face value. 

It was only a little at a time — sometimes a very little — 
but those littles multiplied by other littles, grew amazingly. 
The husbandman who would sit himself down by a hill of 
corn, and wait to see the tender blades put forth would be 
disheartened ; but he knows if he plants the tiny seed, and 
cultivates it as he ought, the harvest of golden grain will 
come at length. 

Albert and Alice were married in the spring of 1865. 
It was on an evening of August, 1870, that Albert came 
home. He had been notified that they must leave the cot- 
tage. They must give up the pleasant home, and lose the 
littler garden they had cultivated with so much fondness and 
care 

"The owner wishes to sell," he exclaimed; "and has 
an offer. He asks two thousand dollars, and must have 
five hundred down." 

Alice's eyes gleamed with radiant delight. 



SABBATH READINGS. 



She had been thinking for some time that she must let 
her husband into her secret. It had begun to wear upon 
her. And now the time had come as by providential in- 
terposition. 

She got up and went away to her cabinet, and when 
she came back she brought a little book in her hand. 

"Albert !" said she, "lets you and I buy the cottage." 

Albert looked at her in amazement ; and directly it 
flashed upon him that there was too much solemnity in her 
look and tone for badinage. Something that he had 
noticed during the past few months came back to him, and he 
trembled with the weight of suspense that fell upon him. 

Alice then showed her book — that she had more than 
eight hundred dollars in the bank. The ice was broken — 
she told her story in glowing words. She told how she 
had saved up little by little, and how she had at length 
found herself able to purchase a fifty-dollar bond. And 
then she told how her uncle in the banking-house had taken 
charge of her investment ; and how, under his management, 
the interest had accrued in amazing volume. 

But the grand result was not the chief thing. The 
chief thing was the beginning — was the very little which 
had been religiously saved until the second little could be 
added to it. 

And now, as a result of his wife's careful and tireless 
wwking, Albert found something upon which his ambition 
could take *a fair start. He never could himself, from so 
small a commencement, have reared the pile ; but with the 
structure started, and its proportions all blocked out, he 
could help on the work. He could see how it was done — 



A LIFE LESSON. 



183 



and not only that, but the demonstration was before him 
that the thing could be done. 

One year has elapsed since Albert Moore received the 
lesson from his wife, and joining hands with her, and bend- 
ing his energies in the same direction, he has accomplished 
during the twelve months what would have seemed to him 
a marvel in the earlier time. He has laid by more than 
fifty cents a day ; and the cigars, and the beer, and the 
other condiments of life which he has surrendered to the 
work, are not missed — rather, he holds they are so many 
enemies conquered. And Albert can improve his home 
with cheerful heart, and he can set out new trees and vines 
in his garden with bright promises, because he sees, day by 
day, the pretty cottage growing more and more his own. 
The end approaches a little at a time — little by little it ap- 
proaches, but surely, nevertheless ; and there is a great 
and satisfying joy even in the labor and in the anticipation. 



Hard Times Conquered. 




BOUT seventy years ago, a physician with a 
young family springing up about him, consult- 
ing his wife, as all good husbands find it pru- 
, dent to do, bought a large farm in one of our 



New England States, where every farmer truly earns his 
living by the sweat of his brow. Both felt that nowhere 
could their children be trained to industry and frugality so 
thoroughly as on a good farm. 

The doctor was obliged to " run in debt M for this prop- 
erty, and he gave a mortgage on the place. The payments 
were to be made quarterly, and promptly, or the whole 
would be forfeited and revert to the original owner. In 
those days physicians were not likely to become millionaires, 
and though Dr. Mason's practice was large, the pay was 
small, and not always sure. He therefore looked to the 
farm for the means to release him from the bondage of 
debt ; and the children, even to the youngest, were taught 
to labor for, and look forward eagerly to, the time "when 
we have paid for the farm ! " 

The creditor was the doctor's father-in-law, through his 
first wife, and while the good old gentleman lived, if by any 
mishap or overpress of business the quarterly payment had 
been delayed, it would have been kindly excused. But for 
the ten or fifteen years that he lived after the sale of the 
farm, there had not been one delay in payment, though 



HARD TIMES CONQUERED. 185 

now and then there would come a time when it was very 
hard to secure the needed sum in time, for even in the 
olden days " hard times" were often experienced, to the 
terror of our hard-working New England farmers. But 
little by little, the heavy debt was diminishing, and the 
doctor's family were looking forward hopefully to the year 
of jubilee, when they could sit under their own vine and 
fig-tree with none to molest and make them afraid. 

At this period the father-in-law died. He had but two 
children, — daughters. The younger, the doctor's wife, died 
childless. The elder married a hard, close, scheming man 
who lost no opportunity of remarking that he would, no 
doubt, soon come in possession of Dr. Mason's farm, as the 
latter, with his large family, must fail by and by. 

The financial troubles which the war of 1812 had 
caused, as all wars are sure to do, were not yet adjusted. 
Money was scarce, and payments very difficult. Ten chil- 
dren now filled the old house with merriment and gladness ; 
but they were to be clothed and educated. 

Let us see how successfully they had been taught to 
make their high spirits and resolute wills cheerful auxiliaries 
in lifting the burden, which, since their grandfather's death, 
was pressing upon their parents. 

At the time of which we write, among other crops, rye 
was extensively raised. It was used for food among the 
farmers quite as much as wheat, and was also valuable for 
other purposes. When full-grown, but still in the milk, 
large quantities were cut to be used for " braiding." The 
heads were used for "fodder the stalks, after being 
soaked in strong hot soap-suds, were spread on the grass 



SABBATH READINGS. 



for the sun to whiten. When sufficiently bleached and 
ready for use, they were cut at each joint, and the husk 
stripped off, and the straw thus prepared was then tied in 
pound bundles for sale. 

Bonnets, then, meant something more than a small bit 
of silk or velvet with a flower or feather attached, and the 
"straw braid" for making them was in great demand. 
Boys and girls were alike taught to braid, and the long 
winter evenings were not spent idly. Dr. Mason raised 
large crops of rye, and each child, almost as soon as he 
could walk, was taught to braid, and was soon able to do 
much by it toward clothing himself. At six years of age a 
dollar a week was easily earned ; at eight, three dollars ; and 
in something of that proportion up to the eldest. 

Does any one think that such a life, with such an ob- 
ject in view, was hard or cruel ? Never was there a greater 
mistake. It was of great value to those young spirits. 
They had something real, that they could understand, to 
labor for. There was life and courage and true heroism in 
it. It was an education — with here and there, to be sure, 
some rough places to pass over — which was worth more to 
them than all the money millionaires bequeath their sons 
and daughters ; an education which prepared them in after- 
life to be courageous and self-helpful. 

It is this kind of training that has made New England's 
sons and daughters strong and self-reliant, and the lack of 
it which makes these hard times such a horror that we 
hear of many who seek death by their own hands as prefer- 
able to the struggle for better times. 

In the long winter evenings, when the labor of the day 



HARD TIMES CONQUERED. 



187 



was over, the children home from school, and the " chores" 
all finished, the candles were lighted and the evening work 
began. The mother in her corner was busy making and 
mending for her large family. The doctor, if not with the 
sick, read and studied opposite her. The children gath- 
ered around the long table in the middle of the room, where 
lay the school-books and straw previously prepared for 
braiding, while the old fireplace, heaped with blazing logs 
of hickory, oak, and fragrant birch, made the room warm and 
cheerful. Here, with their books before them and fastened 
open to the next day's lessons, the children with nimble 
fingers -plaited the straw and studied at the same time. For 
children taught to be industrious, usually carry into the 
schoolroom the principles thus developed, and are ambitious 
to keep as near the head of the class as possible. 

Such a family as this was well equipped to meet and 
conquer adversity. For several days Dr. Mason had been 
unusually grave and silent. All noticed it, but no remarks 
were made until evening, when he came to supper, so un- 
mistakably worried and despondent that his wife inquired 
if he were not well. 

" Yes, well enough. But, Lucy, I have so far been un- 
able to collect money for our quarterly payment. So much 
is due me that I had no fears but that enough would be 
promptly paid to save me any trouble." 

" How much is there lacking ? " 

" Not quite a hundred dollars ; but it might as well be 
thousands for any chance I now see of getting it in season. 
There is now so much sickness about, that, as you know, I 
have had no rest, and little time to collect money. If not 



188 



SABBATH READINGS. 



ready before midnight to-morrow, we are ruined. I have 
kept it from you as long as I dared, still hoping that those 
who ought to pay me would do so." 

" Have you told them how very important it is that you 
should have the money ? " 

"No; I did not wish to speak of it. Mr. H. is watch- 
ing greedily for a 6 slip,' and w r e need expect no mercy at 
his hands. Under our hard labor and good care, this farm 
has risen greatly in value— too much so for him to spare us 
an hour, if he can once get hold of it. I am about discour- 
aged. It is the darkest time we have seen yet. But I 
must be off, and will probably be kept out all night. To 
think there are not forty-eight hours between us and ruin ! 
And my hands are so tied by several severe cases, that I 
may not find one hour to make up the little that is needed." 

For a few minutes after the doctor left, the children 
stood silent and sad, watching their mother. At last she 
said,— 

" Children, we can help father through this, and save 
our home, if you are willing to submit to some little self- 
denial. No ; I should have said to great self-denial. Each 
of you has worked diligently to buy new garments for win- 
ter. You need them and deserve them, and I should be 
happy and proud to see you all neat and comfortable. But 
to help father, are you willing to let me try to clean, mend, 
or make over your old clothes, and use what you have 
earned to help brighten this dark day ? The braid you 
have on hand, and what is now due at the store, is all your 
own, or to be expended for your own clothes, and if each 
one of you is not perfectly willing, I do n't wish you to give 
it up." 



HARD TIMES CONQUERED. 189 



It was a beautiful sight to see those eager faces watch- 
ing their mother, ready to answer the moment she had fin- 
ished ; for in the olden time children were taught that it 
was disrespectful to interrupt any one when speaking, even 
when, as in this case, it was difficult to keep silent. But 
the reply, when given, was prompt, enthusiastic, as she had 
confidently looked for it to be. 

"Thanks, dear children? Now, then, hasten. First 
bring me all your braid, and let us see how much it will 
come to." 

The braid, in ten-yard rolls, was brought, and its value 
estimated. 

u With that which is now due us at the store, we have 
nearly sixty dollars ! Well done, for all these little fingers ! 
But now we must devise a way to make up the remainder. 
Your father spoke last night of a large quantity of straw, 
which, if cut, would bring in something. He will be away 
all night. If you work well, we can cut many pounds be- 
* fore midnight. Now, girls, help me wash the dishes, while 
your brothers bring, before dark, the straw we can cut to- 
night." 

By the time the candles were lighted, all w T as ready to 
begin. 

The younger children were excused at their usual bed- 
time, but the others worked with their mother till the tall 
clock in the corner struck one. Then all retired for a few T 
hours' rest. 

Dr. Mason returned home in season for breakfast, and 
his wife inquired if the eldest son could drive her over to 
the neighboring town to dispose of some braid for the chil- 



190 SABBATH READINGS, 

dren. He replied that he must be gone again nearly all 
day, and neither son nor team could well be spared from 
important work at home. But a strange thing followed 
this implied refusal. Mrs. Mason, who never allowed her 
plans or washes to interfere with her husband's, now re- 
peated her request, and urged it till he yielded, apparently 
from sheer surprise that his wife could be so persistent. 

The doctor went his usual round, and the mother and 
her son departed on their mysterious errand. Their busi- 
ness accomplished, they returned well satisfied and ready 
for supper when the father arrived. 

A deeper gloom was on his face when he entered ; but 
no word was spoken till all were seated at the table. Then 
in a slightly agitated voice his wife inquired, — 

"Have you been successful in obtaining the money?" 

He shook his head, but remained silent. Each young 
quivering face was turned first toward him, then with ear- 
nest, questioning glance to the mother. 

u Be not discouraged, dear, even at this late hour." 

u Are you wild, Lucy ? There are but six hours be- 
tween us and ruin. Can vou talk of hone now ? I have 

j j. 

none." 

With a warning gesture to the children, she rose, 
stepped to her husband's chair, and passing her arm round 
his neck, said, gently, — 

" Yet still hope on, my husband ; God will not forsake 

us." 

He moved impatiently from under her arm ; but as he 
did so, she dropped a roll into his bosom and turned toward 
her chair. 



HARD TIMES CONQUERED. 191 



" Lucy ! Lucy ! what is this ? Where did you get it ? " 

All was wild with excitement. Each child laughing, 
sobbing, shouting, but one glance from that strong but gen- 
tle mother quelled the confusion, and she replied, — 

" It is our children's offering, and is sufficient to make up 
the needed sum. I persisted in going away this morning 
against your wish, because I saw no escape. We cut the 
straw last night — many willing hands made quick work ; I 
sold it, and their braid added to it, with what was already 
due them, completed the sum." 

Those who witnessed that scene will never forget it ; 
Dr. Mason with his arm around his wife, and both in tears, 
calling her all happy names ; the children clinging about 
their parents, so joyful that home was saved, and they had 
helped to save it. 

" Put Charlie into the wagon, quick. If he fails me 

not, the six miles between here and M will be the 

shortest I ever rode. I shall be home before bedtime to 
thank you all. I cannot now. I hope we shall never come 
so near ruin again." 

And they never did. In two years the last dollar was 
paid, and then Dr. Mason resolved he would never again 
owe any one a cent. He kept his resolution. 





DARKENED room, spacious and handsomely 
furnished — being, in fact, the chamber of Mrs. 
Wilcox, the mother of the little fellow who oc- 
cupied the wide bed. He lay there in lugubri- 
ous state, the rosy face stained with much crying, just show- 
ing above the edge of the counterpane ; his tangle of yellow 
curls crushed upon the bolster. Below these was a white 
mound, stretched along the middle of the bed, just the 
length of Robby, aged seven and a half, the youngling of 
the Wilcox family. Two big blue eyes, glazed with tears, 
wandered from one to another of the two faces gazing at 
him from opposite sides of the horizontal pillory. Both 
were kindly, both loving, both sad. They belonged to the 
parents of Robby, and he had been convicted, sentenced, 
and punished for telling a lie. 

His mother had sent him to the fruit-store with twenty- 
five cents and an order for two lemons. The tempter, in 
the form of a " street-boy," waylaid him at the corner with 
192 



A GOOD LESSON SPOILED, 



193 



a challenge to a competitive show for tops. The silver 
" quarter " was in the same pocket with Robby's new air 
top and card, the pride of his soul. He may have drawn it 
out with his handkerchief when he wiped his face after the 
. game. The tempter may have known more about it than 
the tempted suspected. At any rate, the money was not 
to be found, and he was close by and ready with his propo- 
sition when Robby discovered the loss. 

" Mamma will certainly scold me this time," he sub- 
joined, turning every pocket inside out, and staring dis- 
tractedly up and down the street. " I lost ten cents last 
week, and she told me to be more careful." 

" Don't tell her! And don't pay for the lemons. 
When the bill comes in, your mamma will have forgotten 
all about sending you for them, or she will think the lemon- 
feller made a mistake. I know lots of real gamey fellers 
who get out of scrapes that way. It's only milk-sops who 
run to mammy with every little bother." 

The experiment thus suggested and urged, was a suc- 
cess until mamma demanded the change. 

" He said there was n't any ! " faltered the errand-boy. 

"No change! out of twenty-five cents!" Then with 
a searching look at the scarlet face painfully averted — 
"Robby!" 

The " milk-sop " bethought himself of the " gamey fel- 
lers." 

" Honest-true, mamma ! " he plucked up courage .to say. 

" Put on your hat, my son, and go with me to the store 
where you bought the lemons. There is something wrong 
when my boy cannot look me in the eyes ! " 

13 



194 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Thus came about the tragedy that darkened the June 
day for the whole Wilcox household. It was at nine o'clock 
on Saturday morning that the falsehood was detected. At 
two p. M. Mrs. Wilcox brought up the prisoner's dinner. 
Only bread and water ! He had smelled the savory soup • 
and roast lamb, and the cook had hinted at strawberry 
short-cake when he passed, whistling, through the kitchen, 
turning the silver quarter over in his pocket. That was 
almost five hours ago, and he was to lie here until supper- 
time, alone ! When he had eaten the bread of affliction, 
seasoned with tears of self-pity and remorse, mamma re-ap- 
peared with papa. 

" My son ! " said the latter, " I would rather have you 
die in your innocent boyhood than grow up a liar ! Tell 
the straight, simple truth always and everywhere. No 
brave man will lie. Papa does not want his boy to be a 
coward. No honest man will deceive or tell a falsehood. 
Papa does not want his boy to be a cheat ! " 

Mrs. Wilcox sat down on the bed when her husband 
had gone. All the mother-heart in her was crying out 
and tearing itself with longing and pity ineffable. Arms 
and heart ached to enfold the precious little sinner so griev- 
ously worsted in the battle with temptation. " Mamma is 
very sorry that her darling has been so naughty ! " she 
said, bowing her head upon the pillow beside the mat of 
curls dampened by the rain from the culprit's eyes. 

" Mamma ! Indeed, I will never tell another lie — not 
the leastest fib ! " he sobbed. 

" God help you to keep your word, my son. Every 
falsehood is like a drop of ink upon snow to your soul ! " 



A GOOD LESSON SPOILED. 195 



She stroked back his hair and comforted herself by 
giving him, one after another, the passionate kisses with- 
held through all these miserable hours. Holding the 
chubby fingers in hers, she talked to him a few minutes 
longer of his sin, and to whom he should look for forgive- 
ness ; then bending over him, she prayed in simple words 
and few for the little one who had stumbled to his own 
hurt. "Lie still and think it all over, dear!" was her 
parting injunction. 

At the tea-table, Robby was not disposed to talk. He 
noted and understood the grave gentleness of his father's 
countenance and demeanor ; the chastened loveliness of his 
mother's look ; the quiet tone caught by the other children 
from the grown-up sister who sat next to him. His trans- 
gression had affected the spirits of the whole party. The 
very avoidance of all direct reference to it was significant 
and impressive. It was something too disgraceful for 
table-talk. A blackened soul ! soiled lips ! These were the 
figures most distinct to his imagination as he crept after 
supper into the library, and sat down at the alcoved window 
looking upon a side street. The boys were playing noisily 
in the warm twilight. Robby watched them, curled up on 
the window bench, one foot tucked under him, his face 
more sober each minute. He was sure his mother would 
shake her head sadly were he to request permission to join 
the joyous group of his fellows. Nor did he care — very 
much — to go out. The recollection of sin and consequent 
suffering was too fresh. 

Nettie, the grown-up sister, had a visitor, and mamma 
had joined the girls, and was chatting cheerfully with them 



196 



SABBATH READINGS. 



— not at all as she looked at the cowering little liar under 
the counterpane up-stairs. 

"Mamma," suddenly exclaimed the daughter, " there 
are old Mr. and Mrs. Bartol ! I do believe you are to be 
honored by a call from them/' 

"I sincerely hope not/' was the answer. "Papa and I 
had planned a walk on this lovely evening, and our friends 
the Bartols are given to long sittings." 

"Besides being insufferably prosy," interpolated plain- 
spoken Nettie. " They are coming in, Milly, you and I can 
fun away 1 " and they fluttered through the back-parlor door. 

Mamma's face was overcast with genuine vexation. 
Her sigh, "How provoking! " reached the alcoved auditor. 
Then she advanced to meet a fat old lady, and a fatter, bald 
old gentleman. 

"Is this really you, Mr. Bartol? It is an age since I 
have met you. I am happy to see you both. Pray be 
seated." 

"Oh, good gracious!" said Robby, under his breath, 
sinking back into his corner, actually sick and trembling. 

When he could listen and think again, papa had been 
sent for, and Mr. Bartol was apologizing for mingling busi- 
ness with a friendly visit. He wanted to buy a house 
owned by Mr. Wilcox, situated near his — Mr. Bartol's — 
home. The play of negotiation, of parry and thrust, was 
courteous, as befitted actors and scene, but Mr. Bartol's 
intention to buy cheap, and his host's desire to sell dear, 
were palpable to the unworldly eavesdropper. 

" I am sorry you hold the property at so high a figure ! " 
finally remarked Mr. Bartol, rising to take leave. " I must 



A GOOD LESSON SPOILED. 



197 



consult the friend who commissioned me to make inquiries, 
before I can say anything definite." 

Mr. Wilcox was the impersonation of smiling indiffer- 
ence. " The truth is, my dear sir, I do not care to sell at 
all. The property is rising in value, and I may remove to 
that part of the city myself next year. I should lose on it 
were I to take less than the price I have named." 

When the guests had gone, Mr. Wilcox turned laugh- 
ingly to his wife : 

" Well, my love, you have lost your walk, but your hus- 
band has made four thousand dollars — clear ! " 

" You think he will buy the place, then ? " 

"I know he will! He wants to settle' his daughter 
there. She is to be married next month. I had a hint to 
that effect some days since. I had the game in my hands 
from the first. I bought the property, three years ago, at 
a low figure. The rent has covered interest, taxes, etc. I 
shall never live there myself. It would not be convenient 
for my business. I have been anxious this great while to 
sell. I am already carrying more real estate than I ought 
to hold." 

" I am afraid Robby is less impressed by the lesson of 
to-day than we could desire," observed Mrs. Wilcox sorrow- 
fully to her husband at bedtime. " He strode off to bed 
without saying < Good night ' to any one, and pretended to 
be asleep when I looked into his room just now, answering 
gruffly after I told him I knew he was awake. What shall 
I do if my child becomes an habitual deceiver ? " 

<( We must watch his associations narrowly/' replied the 
judicious father. " Everything depends upon the examples 
and impressions of early life." 



Benevolent Society. 



X 



N the snug, cozy barroom of the u Farmers' 
Inn," at Madisonville, sat six young men. It 
was a cold, bleak evening in December ; and 
the wind that howled and drove without, drift- 



ing the snow and rattling the shutters, gave to the blazing 
fire and steaming kettle additional charms and comforts. 
There was Peter Hobbs, a youth of five and twenty/ who 
seemed to be the leader, par excellence, of the party. He 
was a good-natured, intelligent, frank-looking man, and was 
really a noble-hearted citizen. Then there was John Fulton, 
a youth of the same age, who worked with Hobbs, both be- 
ing journeyman carpenters. Samuel Green was a machinist ; 
Walter Mason, a tin worker; Lyman Drake, a cabinet 
maker ; and William Robinson, a clerk. They ranged, in 
age, from twenty-three to twenty-eight, and were really in- 
dustrious youths, receiving good wages, and maintaining 
good characters for honesty, sobriety, and general good be- 
havior. Yet they were looked upon by some as ungodly 
youths, and given over to perdition. True, they belonged 
to no church ; and, amid the various conflicting creeds by 
which thev were surrounded, they had not vet settled down 
upon an}* one in particular, believing that there was good in 
all of them, and evil among the members of each. 

On the present occasion, they were all of them smoking, 
and the empty mugs which stood upon the table near them, 



198 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 



showed pretty conclusively that they had been drinking 
something besides water. The subject of the cold winter 
had been disposed of ; the quality of the warm ale and 
cigars had been thoroughly discussed, and at length the 
conversation turned upon the missionary meeting, which 
had been held in the town on the previous Sabbath. 

" I do n't know but this missionary business is all right," 
said Sam Green, knocking the ashes from his cigar with his 
little finger, "but at the same time, I don't believe in it. 
Them Hindoos and South Sea Islanders may be savage and 
ignorant, by our scale of measuring folks ; but that is no 
reason why we folks should send all our money off there, 
w^hile our own folks are starving at home." 

" Did you put anything into the box ? " asked Lyman 
Drake. 

"No, I didn't. When they shoved it into my face, I 
told 'em I'd left all my money at home — and so I had." 

"You're about right, Sam," said Bill Robinson. "But 
I did more than you did. When the box was handed to 
me, I spoke right out, so that everybody around me heard. 
I told the old deacon if he'd take up a subscription to help 
the poor in our town, I'd put in something." 

" What did he say to that ? " 

" Why — he said, ' Souls are of more consequence than 
bodies.' So I just said back that I guessed he'd find it 
hard work to save a soul out of a starving body. But you 
see that is n't the thing. They won't try to save the souls, 
or the bodies either, of their own townfolks. Now when 
Squire Truman came here to settle, they tried quick enough 
to save his soul. Ye see his body was already salted down 



200 SABBATH READINGS. 

with ten thousand dollars, so his soul was worth something 
to 'em. Why don't they try to save poor old Israel Trask's 
soul, and his wife's too ? " 

" Was n't there a committee of the church that visited 
old Israel last month ? " queried Drake. 

" Yes — there was," answered Sam, giving his cigar an 
indignant shake ; " and what did they do ? They went 
there — four on 'em — and found the old folks suffering for 
want of food and clothing. They tried to make the old 
man believe their religion was the only true one in the 
world, but he would not. So they gave him three tracts 
and a little cheap book, and then went away. That's what 
they did. Afore I'd give a cent to such chaps to send off 
to feed their missionaries in Baugwang and Slapflam 
Islands, I'd throw it into the fire. " 

" But these missionaries are honest people, and do some 
good," remarked Peter Hobbs, who had not before spoken 
on the subject. 

" Of course they do," responded Sam. "But wouldn't 
it look better of 'em to begin some of their charities at 
home? I judge of a man's order by the way his own shop 
looks, and not by the way he may fuss around on another 
man's premises. And just so with those philanthropists. 
I'd rather see how much their religion does toward keeping 
the Gentiles of their own town, than to go away off to the 
other end of the earth to look for the fruits of their Chris- 
Ciarhy. Them's my sentiments." 

"And mine too," uttered Walter Mason, who had just 
thrown away the stump of one cigar, and was about lighting 
another. "Just think ; they collected, last Sunday, to send 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 



201 



off to the Hindoos, over two hundred dollars. Now, that 
would have made half the poor families in this town — and I 
don't know but all — comfortable for the winter. There 
was Mr. Netherly — worth forty thousand dollars — he put 
in a ten-dollar bill. It w r as a great, new bill, and he opened 
it, and held it up, and even turned it round, so't everybody 
could see it before he let it drop. Then at the end, when 
the box was carried up into the pulpit, the deacon whispered 
to the minister ; and the minister got up, and, said, taking 
hold of the corner of the rich man's bill : * Here is ten dol- 
lars from one brother. Let that" brother be assured that 
his deed is remembered of him in heaven.' Yes, that's 
what was said ; and Mr. Netherly held up his head, bowed 
very low, and then looked around at the rest of the congre- 
gation, as much as to say, 6 thafs me? Now I know of an- 
other thing that I guess'll be remembered in heaven, along- 
side of this one. Last w r eek, poor old Trask — Uncle Israel 
— called at Netherly's with some baskets. You know the 
old man gets out stuff in the summer, and then in the win- 
ter makes it up. Well, he went there, and asked Netherly 
if he wouldn't buy a basket. No; he didn't want one. 
Then the old man told him how he and his poor old wife 
were suffering, and he asked him if he couldn't help him 
in some way ; and what do you think Netherly said ? — Why, 
he said that he had to pay taxes to help support a poor- 
house, and told Uncle Israel that he'd find help there, if 
he'd only apply to the selectmen ! Now what d'ye think 
of that, eh ? " 

"Why," returned Sam, "I think if he's got an account 
in heaven, he'll find a balance against him, when he comes 
to settle up." 



202 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" So he will," responded three or four of the others. 

For some moments after this, the party smoked in 
silence. Peter Hobbs had been pondering very deeply 
upon something, and at length he spoke : 

"Now look here, boys," he said, throwing his half- 
smoked cigar into the fire, "there's a good deal of truth in 
what's been said — in fact, it's all true ; but, before we 
blame others, we ought to do something ourselves. Now 
I'm ready to form a regular benevolent society. Let us 
six go at the work, and see what we can do toward allevia- 
ting some of the distress about us. What say you ? M 

The other five looked on in wonder. 

"But/' said Sam, "how are we to do it? We arn't 
among the favored ones. We weren't born with silver 
spoons in our mouths." 

"I should like to do it," added Drake, "but what's the 
use? We couldn't do much any way — not enough to 
amount to anything." 

And so the others expressed their opinions in like man- 
ner. They all "would like," but "where was the money 
to come from ? " 

"Listen," said Peter; and they all turned toward him 
with real deference, for they knew he never wore a cloak 
over his heart, and .that when he spoke in earnest, his 
meaning had depth to it. "Now I have formed a plan. 
There is old Uncle Israel and his wife; then there is the 
widow Manley, with four little children, suffering for want 
of the actual necessaries of life ; and then there is Mrs. 
Williams — she is very poor. Her son Philip, who is her 
mainstay, was sick all the summer and fall, and is sick 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 203 



now ; so the woman got nothing from her little patch of 
land, and is now absolutely reduced to beggary, with her- 
self and sick son to support. Now let us take these three 
cases in hand, and support them. ,, 

"But how? ,, asked three or four voices, anxiously, for 
they really and fully sympathized with the noble plan. 

"I'll tell you," resumed Peter. "Here, Tim," he 
called, turning to the bar-keeper, "what's our bill ? " 

"Let's see," responded the worthy, coming up. 
"There's two cigars apiece, three cents each — that's thirty- 
six. Then the ale — three pints — eighteen cents ; and wine 
— three gills — that's eighteen more — makes just thirty-six 
more; and twice thirty-six is — is — seventy-two — seventy- 
two cents in all." 

"Come, boys," said Peter, "let's pay an equal share to- 
night. Let's give him ninepence apiece." 

So the "boys " paid up, and after Tim had gone, Peter 
resumed : 

" Now see" what we've spent to-night for nothing. I'll 
begin with you, Sam. How much do you suppose you 
spend each day for cigars and ale ? Now reckon fairly." 

"Let's see," was Sam's response after gazing into the 
face of his interlocutor until he had fairly got hold of the 
idea. "I certainly average four — no, -five cigars a day, and 
I suppose they average three cents apiece. Then comes 
my ale — but I could not tell how much that amounts to, 
for I don't drink it regularly, but perhaps six cents a day." 

"That's just twenty-one cents a day, utterly wasted," 
said Peter ; and I'll own up to wasting twenty-five cents a 
day. How is it with you, John ?" 



204 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"I'll say twenty-five." 
"And you, Walter?" 
" Just about the same." 
" Lyman ? " 
"The same." 
"Bill?" 
"The same." 

" Now look at it. Here we are, a little worse than 
wasting about a dollar and a half a day. But let us put 
our loss at a shilling each — " 

"No, no," cried Sam, who saw through the whole plan. 
"Let's give honest measure. I'll own up to the twenty- 
five. Let's go the whole, if any." 

"Very well," returned Peter; "then let us commence 
and pledge ourselves not to smoke, or drink ale, for one 
month from this date. Every night we will lay away a 
quarter of a dollar, and at the end of the week we'll put 
our savings all together, and then go on our mission. What 
say you? " 

With one voice the other five joined in the plan. The 
novelty of the thing may have pleased them ; but the real 
incentives lay deeper down in the natural goodness of their 
hearts. There was no written pledge, but they took a 
more speedy method. Peter laid his hand upon the table, 
and said : 

"Here's my hand, pledged to the work." 
" b And mine too," cried Sam, laying his broad palm atop 
of Peter's. 

^And mine," "and mine," "and mine," chimed the 
rest, placing their hands atop of the other until the six 
right hands lay upon the table in a pyramid. 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 205 



"This is Tuesday,' ' resumed Peter. "Will we meet 
next Saturday ?" 

" Yes," answered Sam, and call it a week. Let's throw 
in two days." 

And so the week was begun. 

On the next day, as Sam Green sat atop of his bench 
after dinner, he felt rather lost without his cigar, and for 
awhile he argued the question with himself, whether 
it would n't be just as well for him to put an extra quarter 
into his box and have his cigars as usual. But he remem 
bered his pledge. He looked forward to Saturday, when 
he should find himself an ambassador of mercy to the sick 
and needy — and his resolution grew strong again. That 
was his last real hesitation, though it must be confessed he 
had some trials and hankerings. 

And so with the rest, they had some moments of doubt 
and mental warfare with appetite and habit, but conquered, 
and were true. 

Saturday came, and the six youths left their work at 
noon, having done more than enough overwork to make up 
for the loss of the half day. 

"Must have a time once in awhile, eh?" said Sam's 
boss, as the young man pointed to the work he had done, 
and informed him that he should not work the rest of the 
day. 

"Some sort of a time/' replied Sam. 

" Very well, but you're too good a fellow to go very 
deep into dissipation." 

" I'll be up bright in the morning, sir ;" and with this 
he left, 



206 



SABBATH READINGS. 



The new Benevolent Society met at Walter Mason's 
tin-shop. Each took out his money and they had in all 
nine dollars, it being in thirty-six silver quarters. 

"Now," says Peter, "let's visit the three families we 
have taken under our charge. We'll go together, and ex- 
pend the money as we see it is most needed. Let us go to 
Uncle Israel's first." 

So off they went to Uncle Israel Trask's. The old 
couple lived in a small hut at the edge of the village, which 
was reached by a narrow lane, and here the six philanthro- 
phists found the old lady, who was now in her eightieth 
year, suffering with a severe attack of the rheumatism, 
while the old man sat crouched over the fire, shivering with 
cold. 

" Good day, good day, Uncle Israel." 

" Aha, good day, boys, good day," cried the old man, 
trying to smile. " Can ye find seats ? Sit down some- 
where and make yourselves at home. But ye see it's a 
poor home that old Israel can offer ye to-day." 

" But how are you getting along ? " asked Peter, after 
the party had found seats. 

" Ah, God a'mercy, I won't complain, for he is taking 
meself and Molly home fast. Only cold and hunger are 
not kind helpmates, Mr. Hobbs, ye ken that, eh ? " 

" Right weil, Uncle Israel. And we have come to help 
you. Do you want any medicine ? " 

" Nay, nay, the old 'ooman's got a' the medicine laid 
up we want. It's only the food an' heat we need. I can't 
wade through the drifting snow as I could once." 

" Suppose we send you a dollar's worth of other things, 




Copyrighted by M. A. Vroman, 1905. 

Pure Religion Is Visiting the Fatherless and Widows in Their 

Affliction. 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 207 



such as butter, flour, potatoes and the like — could you live 
a week on it ? " 

" Ah, yes, yes, boys, meself and Molly'd live a long, 
long while on that. But ye'll not do it for us." 

" Yes, we will." 

" Ah, it's too much." 

<<No, no," cried Sam, "we've got to do it, Uncle Israel, 
for we six have sworn to help you through the winter. So 
spunk up." 

" D'ye mean that ? " uttered the old man, clasping his 
thin, tremulous hands. 

"We do," they all answered, and then Sam added, 
"and while one of us lives, you shall not suffer the want of 
what one of us can give." 

A moment the old man bowed his snow-white head, 
and then while the big tears streamed down his face, he 
raised his eyes and murmured : — 

" Oh ! God's blessin' be on ye, ye noble boys. If me 
heart was gold, an' I could take it out an' give it ye — for 
it's yours all, all your own ! " 

In a little while the six went away, promising to send 
or come back soon, and even after they had reached the 
yard they could hear the voices of Israel and his wife, both 
raised to God in blessings upon their heads. 

"I say, Sam," said Peter, "this is better than cigars 
and ale." 

" Don't say a word now," replied Sam, "for my heart's 
full, and I can't bear any more." 

Next, they drove through the biting wind and snow to the 
humble cot of Widow Manley. They found her in the 



208 



SABBATH READINGS. 



only habitable room of her dwelling, sitting by a fire of 
chips and fagots, with a babe asleep in her lap, and engaged 
in sewing a coarse frock. Three other children were 
crouched by the fire, the eldest not yet eight years old. 

Mr. Manley had been one of the many unfortunates 
who are swept off by rum, and in the prime of early man- 
hood he had gone, leaving a young wife with four children 
in absolute penury. 

"Ah, good day, Mrs. Manley." 

The woman would have arisen, but Sam Green placed 
his hand upon her shoulders to keep her down. 

" We have come," said Peter, seeing that she was anx- . 
ious and fearful, " to see how you get along, and see if we 
can help you." 

"Help me, sir?" uttered the widow with amazement. 

"Yes ; now tell us plainly how you are situated." 

The woman was silent for a few moments, but at length 
she seemed to regain her self-control, and replied : — 

" Ah, gentlemen, it is all comprised in three short 
words : Hunger, cold, and nakedness ! " 

" And if we will supply you with food and fuel for a 
week, can you manage to get along until that time without 
more clothing?" 

" Oh — h — yes — sirs. But what is it ? Who can help 
us ? Who can care for the — " 

"We can, we will," cried the energetic Sam, not so 
good to plan as Peter, but good at execution. " We six 
have pledged ourselves to see you safe through the winter 
So cheer up and take hope, for neither you nor your chil- 
dren shall suffer while we can help it," 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 209 

The widow's hands were clasped and her eyes wandered 
vacantly from one to the other of her strange visitors. 
She saw tears of goodness in their eyes, and her own soul's 
flood burst forth 

" O God bless you — bless you always." 

" And we shall have something good to eat, mamma, 
and something to make us warm?" asked the eldest girl, 
clasping her mother's knees. 

" Yes, yes, you shall," exclaimed Drake, catching the 
child and kissing her clean, pale face. " You shall have it 
before supper time, too." 

The widow gradually realized the whole object of her 
visitors, and she tried to express her gratitude in words, 
but they failed her, and streaming tears had to tell the tale 
of thanks. 

After this our society went to see Widow Williams. 
Her's was a neat cot, but they found suffering painful 
enough inside. Philip, a youth of about their own age, sat 
in a large stuffed chair, looking pale and thin, and wasted 
away almost to a skeleton, and his great blue eyes peered 
at them wonderingly as they entered. The mother, too, 
looked careworn and sick, and the dry, hacking cough that 
sounded in her throat told how much she needed proper 
food and care. 

The youths made their business known as before, and 
with about the same result. The widow and her son could 
hardly realize that such a blessing had dawned upon them, 
but when they did realize it their joy and gratitude knew 
no bounds. 

" Look here," said Sam Green, as soon as they had 
14 



2io SABBATH READINGS. 



reached the road, " it strikes me that we are just about a 
week behind hand. We ought to have commenced this 
work just one week earlier than we did, for our nine dollars 
won't quite bring matters all up square to the present time. 
But if they were square now, they'd keep so with our 
weekly allowance. ,, 

"You're right, Sam," said Fulton, gleefully. 

" Then let's commence back two weeks, eh ? " 

" I think so," said Peter. 

And all the rest said so, too. So they had eighteen 
dollars instead of nine. 

First, our party went and bought three half cords of 
wood, which they sent at once to their respective destina- 
tions, and they agreed that when the other matters were 
attended to they would go and work it up. Then they 
went to the stores and purchased such articles of provisions 
and comfort as they could agree were best adapted to meet 
the wants of their charges, and, having done this, they sep- 
arated into three parties of two each, so as to have each 
family provided for with as little delay as possible. Besides 
carrying provisions enough to last a week, they left with 
each about a dollar in change. 

When the poor people saw the promised blessing — when 
they thus met the fruition of their newly raised hopes, their 
joy was almost painful. The noble youths were blessed 
over and over again. 

The wood was sawed and split, and put under cover, 
and then the society returned to the village, as happy as 
happy could be. On the next day, they went to the church 
and heard how many heathen had been converted to the 



BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. 



21 I 



peculiar isms of the preachers ; and on the day following 
that, they commenced another week of their newly found 
Christianity 

" Sam," said the owner of the machine-shop, "what 
were you and the rest of your party doing last Saturday 
afternoon ? " 

u Converting the heathen" answered Sam. 

His employer was a church member, and in for foreign 
missions, and moreover had often tried to induce Sam into 
the mysteries. 

It was some time before Sam would tell the secret, but 
his boss became so earnest that he at length told the whole 
story. For awhile the employer gazed upon his journey- 
man with wonder, but gradually, as a sense of the fact came 
over him, he hung his head. 

c< Sam," he said at length, earnestly, and with a tear in 
his eye, "let me join your society." 

"But how'll you raise the money? " inquired Sam. 

f * Monev ? " echoed the boss. " Look at my bank-book." 

" Ah, but that won't answer. You must save the money 
by depriving yourself of some superfluity, or luxury you 
now enjoy." 

"Is that the rule?" 

"It is most rigidly. Our cigars and ale furnish us." 
" And won't you smoke again ? " 

"Never, while within the reach of my influence there's 
a human being in want ! " 

"Then I'll throw away my tobacco and beer; may I 
join at that ? " 

" I'll propose you." 



1 



212 SABBATH READINGS. 

And the master machinist was proposed and admitted. 

Another week passed away, and the new Christians 
went again on their mission, and there were more tears of 
joy, more prayers, and more blessings. Mr. Boothby, the 
machinist, had gained a new ray of light on the subject of 
Christian missions. 

At length it became known that the poor families of 
Madison ville had found friends. People were wonder-struck 
when they discovered how happy and joyous these once 
miserable wretches had become ; and more still when, one 
Sunday they saw Uncle Israel and his wife, and Mrs. Man- 
ley with her twx> elder children, enter the church. 

Of course the truth leaked out, and we can imagine 
where the public eye of sympathy and appreciation was 
turned. Before a month was out, more than fifty people 
had engaged indirectly in the work, by placing money, food, 
and clothing in the hands of the original six, for them to 
distribute as they deemed proper. 

But there was one rule to which the " society " adhered. 
They would not receive a cent in money which was not the 
result of a cutting off of some superfluity, and thus they 
showed to the people how simple and easy in its work is 
true charity, and also how many professed Christians not 
only lose sight of duty, but really lose the greatest joy of 
Christian life. 

It was a glorious day for Madisonville when those six 
young mechanics met in the village barroom and concocted 
the plan for their society. And the good has worked in 
two ways. The members find themselves happier, healthier, 
and stronger, for having given up their pipes and cups ; and 



BENEVOLENT 



SOCIETY. 



213 



the poor unfortunate ones of the town are once again bask- 
ing in the sunlight of peace, content, and plenty. 

How very many professed Christian churches there are 
in our land which would be benefited by following the ex- 
ample of the six noble youths who still stand at the head of 
the Madisonville Benevolent Society. 



\ 




OST young people are very fond of display in 
dress. Rings, breastpins, and similar super- 
fluities, are in great demand among them. We 
have known a girl to spend a month's wages 



for a single article of this kind, and a young man to run in 
debt for a cane when he had scarcely clothing enough to 
appear respectable. The following story of a successful 
merchant will show to such how these things look to sensi- 
ble people. Said he : 

" I was seventeen years old when I left the country 
store where I had ' tended' for three years, and came to 
Boston in search of a place. Anxious, of course, to appear 
to the best advantage, I spent an unusual amount' of time 
and solicitude upon my toilet, and when it was completed, 
I sun-eyed my reflection in the glass with no little satisfac- 
tion, glancing lastly and approvingly upon a seal ring which 
embellished my little finger, and my cane, a very pretty 
affair, which I had purchased with direct reference to this 
occasion. My first day's experience was not encouraging. 



AN INSTRUCTIVE ANECDOTE. 



215 



I traveled street after street, up one side and down the 
other, without success. I fancied, toward the last, that the 
clerks all knew my business the moment I opened the door, 
and that they winked ill-naturedly at my discomfiture as I 
passed out. But nature endowed me with a good degree of 
persistency, and the next day I started again. Toward 
noon I entered a store where an elderly gentleman was 
talking with a lady near by the door. I waited until the 
visitor had left and then stated my errand. 

u i No sir/ was the answer, given in a crisp and decided 
manner. Possibly I looked the discouragement I was be- 
ginning to feel, for he added in a kindlier tone, 'Are you 
good at taking a hint ? 1 

" ' I do n't know,' I answered, and my face flushed pain- 
fully. 

" ' What I wished to say is this,' said he, looking me in 
the face and smiling at my embarrassment, ' If I were in 
want of a clerk, I would not engage a young man who came 
seeking employment with a flashy ring upon his finger, and 
swinging a cane/ 

"For a moment, mortified vanity struggled against 
common sense, but sense got the victory, and I replied, 
with rather shaky voice, 'I'm very much obliged to you,' 
and then beat a hasty retreat. As soon as I got out of 
sight, I slipped the ring into my pocket, and walking rapidly 
to the Worcester depot, I left the cane in charge of the 
baggage-master ' until called for.' It is there now, for 
aught I know. At any rate, I never called for it. That 
afternoon I obtained a situation with the firm of which I am 
now a partner. How much my unfortunate finery had in- 



2l6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



jured my prospects on the previous day I shall never know, 
but I never think of the old gentleman and his plain-dealing 
with me, without always feeling, as I told him at the time, 
' very much obliged to him/ " 



Why He Didn't Smoke. 




HE son of Mr. Jeremy Lord, agel fourteen, was 
spending the afternoon with one of his young 
I friends, and his stay was prolonged into the 
evening, during which some male friends of the 



family dropped in. The boys withdrew into the recess of 
the bay window, at the end of the room, and the men went 
on chatting about the most important matters of the day, 
politics, etc. Still apparently entertaining each other, the 
two boys yet kept their ears open, as boys will, and, taking 
their cue from the sentiments expressed by their elders, 
indorsed one or the other as they happened to agree with 
them. 

" Gentlemen, will you smoke? " asked Mr. Benedict, the 
host. A simultaneous "Thank you," went round, and a 
smile of satisfaction lighted all faces but one. Not that he 
was gloomy, or a drawback on the rest, but his smile was 
not one of assent. A box of cigars was soon forthcoming, 
costly and fragrant, as the word goes. 

"Fine cigar," said one, as he held it to his nose, before 
lighting, "What, Linton, you don't smoke?" "I'm 
happy to say I do not," was the firm rejoinder. 

"Well, now, you look like a smoking man, jolly, care 
free, and all that. I'm quite surprised," said another. 

"We are hardly doing right, are we," asked a rubicund- 
visaged man, who puffed away heartily "to smoke in the 



217 



2l8 



SABBATH READINGS. 



parlor ? I condone that much to my wife's dislike of the 
weed. She makes a great ado about the curtains, you 
know." 

7 

"For my part, that's a matter I don't trouble myself 
about," said the host, broadly. "There's no room in this 
house too good for me and my friends to smoke in. My 
wife has always understood that, and she yields, of course." 

"But you don't know how it chokes her," said young 
Hal Benedict. " Yes, indeed, it gets all through the house, 
you know, and she almost always goes into Aunt Nellie's 
when there are two or three smoking. There she goes 
now," he added, as the front door closed. 

" Why, it's absolutely driving her out of the house, is n't 
it ? " asked Johnny. " Too bad ! " 

"Why don't you smoke, Dalton? " queried one of the 
party. " 'Fraid of it ? Given it up lately ? It don't agree 
with some constitutions." 

" Well, if you want to know why I don't smoke, friend 
Jay," was the answer, " I will tell you, I respect my wife 
too much." 

" Why, you do n't mean — " stammered his questioner. 

"I mean simply what I said. When I was married I 
was addicted to the use of cigars. I saw that the smoke 
annoyed her, though she behaved with the utmost good 
taste and forbearance, and cut down my cigars so as to 
smoke only when going and returning from business. I 
then considered what my presence must be to a delicate 
and sensitive woman, with breath and clothes saturated 
with the odor, and I began to be disgusted with myself, so 
that I finally dropped the habit, and I can't say I'm sorry." 



WHY HE DIDN'T SMOKE. 



219 



"I shouldn't be, I know," said another, admiringly. 
u Tm candid enough to own it, and I think your wife ought 
to be very much obliged to you." 

" On the- contrary, it is I who ought to be obliged to my 
wife," said Mr. Dalton, while the host smoked on in silence, 
very red in the face, and evidently wincing under the re- 
proof that was not meant. 

" I say that Dalton is a brick," whispered young Bene- 
dict. 

* "He's splendid!" supplemented Johnny, who was 
thinking his own thoughts while the smoke was really get- 
ting too much for him, and presently he took his leave. 

The next day Johnny was thoughtful, so quiet, indeed, 
that everybody noticed it, and in the evening, when his 
father lighted his pipe with its strong tobacco, Johnny 
seemed on thorns. 

"I can't think that you don't respect mother," he 
blurted out, and then his face grew scarlet. 

"What do you mean?" asked his father, in a severe 
voice. " I say, what do you mean, sir ? " 

" Because mother hates the smoke so ; because it gets 
into the curtains and carpet — and — and because I heard 
Mr. Dalton last night give as a reason that he did not 
smoke that he respected his wife too much." 

" Pshaw ! Your mother do n't mind my smoking — do 
you, mother?" he asked, jocularly, as his wife entered just 
then. 

"Well — I — I used to rather more than I do now. One 
can get accustomed to anything, I suppose, so I go on the 
principle that what can't be cured must be endured." 



220 



SABBATH READINGS. 



<( Nonsense ! you know I could stop to-morrow if I 

wanted to/ 1 he laughed. 

"But you won't want to," she said, softly. 

I do n't know whether Johnny's father gaye up the 
weed. Most likely not ; but if you want to see what really 
came of it, I will give you a peep at the following paper, 
written some years ago, and which happens to be in my 
possession. 

"I, John Lord, of sound mind, do make, this first day 
of January, 1861, the following resolutions, which I pray 
God I may keep : — 

"First. I will not get married till I own a house, for I 
expect my uncle will give me one, one of these days ; 
mother says he will. 

"Second. I will neyer swear, because it is silly, as well 
as wicked. 

"Third. I will neyer smoke and so make myself dis- 
agreeable to eyerybody who comes near me, and I will 
always kefip these words as my motto after I am married : 

"'I don't smoke, because I respect my wife/ Mr. 
Dalton said that, and I will neyer forget it. 

" (Signed) John Lord." 

And Johnny kept his word like a hero. 



STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE 



"What is it, you provoking thing? Why do n't you 
tell us, so we can laugh too?" 

"Well — you — see," she gasped out at last, "we've got 
a new pupil — the queerest looking thing you ever saw. I 
happened to be in Madam's room when she arrived. She 
came in the stage, and had a mite of an old-fashioned hair 
trunk, not much bigger than a bandbox, and she came into 
Madam's room with a funny little basket in her hand, and 
sat down as if she had come to stay forever. She said, 
'Are you Madam Gazin?' 'Yes/ she replied, 'that is my 
name.' 'Well, I've come to stay a year at your school/ 
And then she pulled a handkerchief out of her basket, and 
unrolled it till she found an old leather wallet, and actually 
took out $250 and laid it in Madam's hand, saying, 'That 





H, girls ! I shall just die, I know I shall ! " ex- 
1 claimed Belle Burnette, going off into a hys- 
terical fit of laughter, which she vainly tried to 
smother behind an elegant lace-edged handker- 



chief. 



222 



SABBATH READINGS. 



is just the amount, I believe ; will you please give me a 
receipt for it ? ' You never saw Madam look so surprised. 
She actually did n't know what to say for a minute, but she 
gave her the receipt, asked a few questions, and had her 
taken to No. 10, and there she is now, this very minute." 

"Well, what was there so funny about all that ? " 

" Why this : she has red hair, tucked into a black net, 
and looks just like a fright, every way. She had on a 
brown delaine dress, without a sign of a ruffle, or trimming 
of any kind, and the shabbiest hat and shawl yeu ever saw. 
You'll laugh, too, when you see her. ,, 

Belle Burnette was an only child, and her wealthy father 
was pleased to gratify her every whim. So, besides being 
far too elegantly dressed for a schoolgirl, she was supplied 
with plenty of pocket-money, and being very generous, and 
full of life and fun, she was the acknowledged leader among 
Madam's pupils. 

When the tea-bell rang, the new-comer was escorted to 
the dining-room, and introduced to her schoolmates as Miss 
Fannie Comstock. She had exchanged her brown delaine 
for a plain calico dress, with a bit of white edging about the 
neck. She did look rather queer, with her small, thin, 
freckled face, and her red hair brushed straight back from 
her face, and hidden as much as possible under a large black 
net, and but for the presence of Madam her first reception 
would have been exceedingly unpleasant. She was shy and 
awkward, and evidently ill at ease among so many strangers. 
As soon as possible she hastened back to the seclusion of 
her own room. The next day she was examined, and 
assigned to her place in the different classes, and to the 



STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE. 223 



surprise of all she was far in advance of those of her age. 
But this did not awaken the respect of her schoolmates as 
it should have done. On the contrary, Belle Burnette and 
her special friends were highly incensed about it, and at 
once commenced a series of petty annoyances, whenever it 
was safe to do so, which kept poor Fannie miserable, indeed, 
although she seemed to take no notice of it. A few weeks 
passed by. Her lessons were always perfectly recited. She 
made no complaint of the slights and sneers of her compan- 
ions, but kept out of their way as much as possible. Her 
thin face grew paler, however, and there were dark rings 
about her eyes. A watchful friend would have seen that 
all these things were wearing cruelly upon her young life. 
One Saturday the very spirit of wickedness seemed let loose 
among them. Madam was away, and the other teachers 
were busy in their rooms. Fannie had been out for a walk 
and was near the door of her room when a dozen or more 
of the girls surrounded her, clasping hands together so she 
was a prisoner in their midst. For a moment she begged 
piteously to be released, but they only laughed the more, 
and began going around, singing something which Belle had 
composed — cruel, miserable, insulting words. She stood 
for ah instant pale and still, then, w T ith a piercing cry, she 
burst through the ring, and rushed into her room, closed 
and locked the door. Through their wild peals of laughter 
the girls heard a strange moan and a heavy fall. 

" I believe she has fainted," said Belle. 

"What shall we do? " said another. 

For a moment they stood there sober enough ; then one 
of them ran for the matron and told her that Fannie Corn- 
stock had fainted in her room and the door was locked. 



224 



SABBATH READINGS. 



She had a long ladder put to the window, and sent the 
janitor to see if it was true. Fortunately the window was 
open, and in a few moments he had unlocked the door from 
the inside. The girls were huddled together in a frightened 
group, while Madam lifted the poor girl and laid her upon 
her bed. She was in violent spasms. The doctor was sent 
for, but when the spasms ceased, alarming symptoms set in, 
and he pronounced it a serious case of brain fever. It is im- 
possible to tell the shame and remorse of the conscience 
stricken girls. They were not brave enough to confess 
their guilt, but hung around the sick room, offering their 
services, vainly wishing that they might atone for it in some 
way. But their presence only excited the poor sufferer, so 
that they were all sent away. Day after day passed, and 
still she raved in violent delirium. The little hair trunk 
was searched to find some clue to her friends, but there 
was nothing found in it but the plainest, scantiest supply of 
clothes. Day after day the doctor came, looking grave and 
anxious, and at last the crisis came. For many hours she 
lay as if dead, and not a noise was permitted to disturb the 
awful silence while they waited to see if she would live or 
die. At last she opened her eyes ; and the suspense was 
relieved by an assuring word from the doctor, that with 
careful nursing she would soon be well again. But her 
convalescence was slow and tedious. 

Her former tormentors dared not speak of what they 
had done, but they sent daily little bouquets of fragrant 
flowers and other delicacies to tempt her returning appetite. 
Her eyes would light up with surprise and pleasure at the 
little gifts. And amidst all her wild ravings not a word of 



STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE. 225 



complaint at the ill treatment she had received ever escaped 
her lips. 

One day Madam was sitting by her side, and as Fannie 
seemed to be much stronger, she ventured to ask after her 
friends. 

" I have no friends, Madam, only Cousin John, who has 
a large family of his own, and has never cared for me. 
Mother died when I was born. I had a step-mother, but 
father died five years after, and I've taken care of myself 
ever since." 

"And you are only fifteen now ? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" How did you get money enough to pay for a year's 
board and tuition here ? " 

"I earned it all, Madam, every cent of it. As soon as 
I was big enough I went into a factory, and earned two 
dollars a week at first, and finally $3.50 ; and I worked for 
my board nights and mornings." 

" Poor child ! " 

"Oh no, ma'am, I was very glad to do it." 

" But how did you keep along so well with your studies ? " 

" I used to fix a book open on my loom, where I could 
catch a sentence now and then, and the overseer did not 
object, because I always did my work well. You see, 
Madam, I wanted to be a teacher some time, and I'd have 
a better chance to learn here than anywhere else, so I de- 
termined to do it." 

" What are your plans for the long vacation ? " 

" I must go back to the factory and earn enough to get 
some warmer clothes for the winter. You see, Madam, 
why I can't afford to dress better." 



226 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Madam's heart was full. She bent over the white, thin 
little face, and kissed it reverently. 

That evening, when the girls gathered in the chapel for 
worship, she told Fannie's story. There was not a dry eye 
in the room. The moment Madam finished, Belle Burnette 
sprang up with the tears pouring down her cheeks, and said : 

" Oh, Madam ! We have been awfully cruel and wicked 
to that poor girl. We have made fun of her from the first, 
and she would not have been sick as she was if we had not 
tormented her almost to death. I was the most to blame. 
It was I that led on the rest, and we have suffered terribly 
all these weeks, fearing she might die. You may expel 
me, or punish me in any way you please ; for I deserve it ; 
and I shall go down on my knees to ask her pardon, as soon 
as you will let me see her." 

"My child, I am shocked to hear this. I can scarcely 
believe that any of my pupils would ill-treat a companion 
because she was so unfortunate as to be plain and poor. 
But you have made a noble confession, and I forgive you as 
freely as I believe she will, when she knows how truly you 
have repented of your unkindness.' , By degrees, as she 
was able to bear it, one after another went to Fannie and 
begged her forgiveness, which was freely granted. She 
said, "I don't wonder you made fun of me. I know I was 
poorly dressed, and awful homely. I would have pulled 
every hair out of my head long ago, only I knew it would 
grow out as red as ever. But, oh ! if I could have felt that 
I had just one friend among you all, I could have borne it ; 
but somehow it just broke my heart to have you all turn 
against me," 



STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE. 227 



After this she gained rapidly, and one fine morning the 
doctor said she might join the girls in the drawing-room for 
an hour before tea. There had been a vast deal of whis- 
pering and hurrying to and fro of late, among the girls, of 
which Fannie had been totally unconscious in the quiet 
seclusion of her room. 

At the appointed time, Madam herself came to assist 
her, and leaning upon her strong arms, the young girl 
walked feebly through the long hall and down the stairs. 

"My dear, the girls have planned a little surprise for 
you, to make the hour as pleasant as possible." 

She opened the door and seated Fannie in an easy chair, 
and the girls came gliding in, with smiling faces, singing a 
beautiful song of welcome. At its close Belle Burnette ap- 
proached and placed a beautiful wreath of flowers upon her 
head, saying: "Dear Fannie, we crown you our queen to- 
day, knowing well how far above us all you are in His sight, 
who looketh upon the heart instead of the outward appear- 
ance. You have taught us a lesson we shall never forget, 
and we beg you to accept a token of sincere love and 
repentance for our treatment of you in the past, which you 
will find in your room on your return." 

Fannie' s eyes were full of tears, and she tried to say a 
word in reply, but Madam spoke for her, and after another 
song they followed their newly crowned queen to the dining- 
room, where a most tempting feast was laid in honor of the 
occasion. Fannie was quietly, tearfully happy through it 
all, yet so wearied with the unusual excitement that Madam 
said she must not see the girls' "peace-offering" that night. 
The first thing she saw the next morning was a fine large 



228 



SABBATH READINGS. 



trunk, and lying upon it a card, " For Miss Fannie Corn- 
stock, from her teacher and schoolmates.'' Having opened 
it, she saw it was packed full of newly folded garments, but 
she had no time to examine the contents, until after break- 
fast, when they left her alone with her wonderful gifts. 
There were pretty dresses and sacques, a fine new parasol, 
gloves and ribbons, cuffs and collars in abundance — indeed, 
everything that a young schoolgirl could possibly need. 
Every one of Madam's two hundred and ten pupils had 
contributed from their choicest and best, to furnish a 
complete outfit for their less favored mate. At the bottom 
was a well-filled writing-desk, an album containing all their 
pictures, and a pretty purse containing five dollars, and the 
following note from Madam : 

"My dear Child : This shall be a receipt in full for 
all expenses, during whatever time you may choose to re- 
main in the seminary, which I present to you as a sincere 
token of my love and respect. 

"Jeannette Gazin." 
They found her at dinner time on the floor, surrounded 
by her new treasures, crying like a baby ; but it did her 
good. She was soon able to resume her studies, and was 
ever afterward treated with kindness and consideration, even 
though all her hair came out and left her head bald as her 
face, so she had to wear a queer, cap-like wig for many 
weeks. 

When the long vacation arrived, Belle carried her off to 
her beautiful home on the Hudson, where for the first time 
in her life she was surrounded with beauty and luxury on 
every side, and was treated as a loved and honored guest. 



STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE. 



229 



It was not long before the hateful wig was cast aside, and 
Fannie's head was covered with a profusion of dark auburn 
curls, which were indeed a crown of glory that made her 
plain face almost beautiful. 

Gentle, loving, and beloved by all, she remained in the 
seminary until she graduated with honor, after which Madam 
offered her the position of head teacher, with a most liberal 
salary, which she gratefully accepted. 



Grandmother's Room. 




OHN LYMAN was what his neighbors and 
townsfolk called a " hard-fisted " man ; and 
, he had earned the name by dint of persevering 
stinginess from boyhood up. He and his good 



wife Phoebe had accumulated a snug little property, besides 
the many-acred farm which was to be his when i€ grand- 
mother " should relinquish her claim to all earthly posses- 
sions. So he was really able to live in comfort ; but, instead 
of that, the old red farmhouse, which was his father's before 
him, was a model of angularity, unadorned and unattractive, 
both inside and out, only preserving a decent aspect through 
Phcebe's thrift and neatness. 

Six little ones made music in the old house, save when 
their father was there. His presence always seemed to 
send a chill to their little warm hearts ; for he made them 
feel that they were " bills of expense," and whenever they 
clamored for pretty things he told them that they " cost 
money," and sent them away with a reproof for their desires. 

And yet John Lyman claimed that he was just. " Do n't 
I pay the minister two dollars every single year? "he 
would say w T hen the puzzled collectors came to him, bank- 
book in hand. Of course he did ; and, if the reverend 
gentleman was a smart preacher, he added a peck of beans 
to his annual subscription, although this came a little hard 
when the harvest was poor. Not being a church member, 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 



231 



he didn't feel called to give to the "heathen," as he was 
wont to style all benevolent objects of whatever character ; 
and it was generally understood that the two dollars were 
given on grandmother's account. 

Dear Grandmother Lyman ! Known and loved by 
everybody in Peltonville, she was peacemaker, adviser, and, 
in fact, condensed sunshine in John's household from Jan- 
uary to December. She was a Christian, too ; and John 
was glad of that, for he believed that she and the Bible 
were good in case of sickness or death ; and, to tell the 
truth, he had a vague idea that she would see that he had a 
place in heaven sometime, after he had grown old and tired 
of this world. But Grandmother Lyman knew better than 
this ; and morning, noon, and night, her prayers ascended 
for him, her only remaining child, and his family. 

One would suppose that such a mother would have 
every want supplied, even by a penurious son. But Oh ! 
the love of gain had so eaten into John's best affections 
that it sometimes seemed as if he had forgotten all claims 
upon him ! So it w r as very trying to ask a favor of him, 
and his mother denied herself many a necessity before do- 
ing it. 

Something more than usually important troubled her 
mind, however, on one bright spring morning as she sat by 
the kitchen fire. All the funny little wrinkles in her dear 
old face, which were generally only telegraph lines for 
smiles to run over, were sobered by some weighty consider- 
ation. Her knitting-work lay idle in her lap ; and she did 
not even notice that little Tillie had pulled two of the 
needles out, ncr that mischievous Nick was sawing away on 



232 



SABBATH READINGS. 



the back of her chair with his antiquated pocket-knife. 
Whatever the problem was, it troubled her all the forenoon ; 
but after dinner she followed John to the door, and, said 
she, "I've been thinking, John, couldn't I have a little 
room somewhere all to myself ? I'm going on seventy-eight 
now, you know, and the children get pretty noisy some- 
times ; and I thought, maybe, if it wouldn't be too much 
trouble — " "Hem! Well, really, grandma'm," taking off 
his hat and scratching his head dubiously, "the children do 
make a precious hubbub here, that's a fact. But I declare ! 
Well, I'll see." And John went to the field. 

As result of the "seeing," on the next rainy day there 
was heard the noise of hammer and saw in a chamber over 
the kitchen. This chamber had never been finished or used 
save as a place in which to store old rubbish of all kinds, 
and was a gloomy, out-of-the-way room at best. Grand- 
mother Lyman looked rather sober over the prospect ; and 
Phoebe wanted to interfere, but as that was against the rules 
of the house, John worked on in his own way, until, at the 
end of two days, and after Phoebe had made several journeys 
up and down the back-stairs, grandmother was told that her 
room was ready. The dear old lady dragged herself up to 
the little chamber, while two little tots came scrambling 
after, bearing her Bible, hymn-book, Wesley's Sermons, and 
knitting-work. But it was no "palace of beauty" which 
she found awaiting her. The room was low, slanting on 
one side, unpapered, uncarpeted, and only lighted by two 
little dormer-windows, which did their best to admit pure 
daylight in spite of the dark gingham curtains so trimly 
hung before them. A bed stood in one corner, before 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 



233 



which was a braided rug, while a stove with two good legs 
occupied the center of the room. 

Grandmother looked out at the windows, but the view 
was not pleasant ; two barns, the watering trough, and the 
fashionable summer resort of the ducks and geese, that was 
all. She was not one to complain ; but she sadly missed 
the grand sweep of mountain and valley w r hich had greeted 
her eyes from the " fore-door " ever since she was brought 
there a happy bride. Turning to arrange her books on the 
little table, she sang, in her wavering way, 

" Thus far the Lord hath led me on ;" 

and, before the verse was finished, her heart was at peace 
again. u Doin to stay up here all 'lone, g'anma ? " said wee 
Tillie in pitying accents. "O no! I guess you and Nick 
will come up real often, won't you?" "1 dess so; but 
'taint very pitty," said the little one, as she trotted down- 
stairs again. 

Meanwhile, John, as he followed the plow, was thinking 
of the five dollars expended in repairing the room, and try- 
ing to persuade himself that he was indeed a worthy son. 
" Five dollars ! It aint every one that would do as much 
for his mother as I do for mine," he soliloquized. "Too 
old to go up-stairs ! Oh well, when she once gets up she 
is more out of the way ; and she wants quiet, you know." 

Be it known that John sometimes found it necessary to 
reason with himself in order to assure his conscience that 
everything was as it should be in her domain ; and some- 
times, as on this occasion, she asked so many questions that 
he was obliged to talk the livelong afternoon. 



234 



SABBATH READINGS. 



He retired that night thinking, "Five dollars for grand- 
ma'm's room and the mare lame in both forefeet ! " But 
while these dismal thoughts filled his mind, his body seemed 
to be very suddenly transported to the kitchen below. He 
was not alone, however, for a woman was there before him, 
walking the floor with a child in her arms. Back and forth 
she paced, carefully holding the pale-faced boy in the same 
position while he slept. 

"Ruth," said a voice from an adjoining room, "that 
little chap will wear you all out. Can't I take him a little 
while?" "O no," was the reply. "He likes to have me 
carry him so, poor little fellow." "Ah," said John to him- 
self, " that's the way mother carried me six nights, when I 
got scalded so terribly." The scene changed, and he saw 
himself again. A crushed foot this time, demanding his 
mother's untiring care. Again and again incidents of his 
life were re-enacted before him, but always with his mother 
there, comforting, working, watching, or praying. Whether 
sick in body or in mind, he saw how, all through his life, a 
mother's tender love had surrounded him. And then he 
stood once more beside his father's death-bed, and heard 
again the solemn charge: "Be kind to your mother, John, 
and make her old age pleasant. She is all you've got now." 
With these words ringing in his ears John Lyman awoke to 
find the perspiration standing on his forehead, and a strange, 
wierd sensation resting on him like a spell, which he tried 
in vain to throw 7 aside. He tried to compose his mind, and 
again to sleep ; but though nothing peculiarly frightful had 
troubled his slumber, he trembled from head to foot. In 
fact, Conscience so long soothed and stifled, had with a 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 



235 



terrible effort freed herself, and determined to make one 
more effort for John's soul. She lashed him unmercifully. 
She showed him how his soul was growing smaller and 
meaner every day — how he was just a plague-spot on God's 
fair earth. He saw himself in a mirror that reflected the 
inmost recesses of his heart, and he was horrified at sight 
of the foulness so long concealed. 

As the hours wore slowly on toward the day, John grew 
to hate himself more and more, until, almost stifled in-doors, 
he rose and went out. Everything wore that unreal look 
that the first faint twilight gives. Mysterious and still the 
mists lay along the foot of the mountain, while the stars 
twinkled, in the sky that seemed very, very far away. 

From force of habit John Lyman strode into the yard 
where the cattle were ; but they only stared at him sleepily, 
as they lay tranquilly chewing the cud ; so he wandered out 
and down the path that led into the little maple grove, 
which had been a playground for three generations. As 
he passed slowly along under the solemn trees, his boyhood 
days came back to him so fresh that the twoscore years of 
hard, grinding toil, flew away as by magic. Oh, that happy, 
careless boyhood ! How had its golden promises been 
fulfilled! A blush of shame rose to the man's cheek as he 
thought how hard and cold his heart had grown. Hundreds 
of times he had stood beside the little stream which he had 
now reached, without noticing a trace of beauty ; but now, 
as the sun lighted the distant mountain-top with a glow that 
crept over its sides, a gladdening, awakening glow, seen 
only in the spring, it seemed as though he had never looked 
upon the scene before. So new, so beautiful ! And a 



236 



SABBATH READINGS. 



wonderful sense of God's nearness stole over him, such as 
he had not felt before for years, and, at the same time, a 
new love for his mother, who had so long been the only 
Bible he read, filled his heart, like a fresh revelation from 
the Father. The lowing of the cattle recalled him to him- 
self, and he turned homeward, passed up the lane into the 
barn, and was soon throwing hay into the mangers below. 
Suddenly he stopped, thrust his pitchfork deep into the 
hay, and said : " My mother shall have a better room than 
that if it costs five hundred dollars! Now that's so! 
Hurrah ! " Good once more had triumphed over evil, as the 
experience of the morning culminated in this worthy reso- 
lution. 

Soon the patter of childish feet was heard, and Tillie 
cried, " Pa, pa, mother wants to know where you be, 'cause 
she's been worryin' about you, fear you's sick, and breakses 
is all gettin' cold this minute. Boiled eggs, too, aint it, 
Ruth?" 

" I'll be in directly," came the answer from the high 
mow ; so happy, chattering, Tillie and quiet Ruth climbed 
down the high steps and started toward the house. Their 
father overtook them as they stopped to look at the ducks 
taking their morning bath, and catching Tillie up, he put 
her on his shoulder, then drew down the little face and 
kissed the fresh, sweet lips. " How natural ! " one may say. 
No, not natural for John Lyman, whose children feared far 
more than they loved him. 

Tillie was astonished and half frightened, and as she 
began to wriggle uneasily, her father set her gently down. 

In a trice she was beside Ruth, and pulling her head 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 



237 



down she whispered in her ear, "Pa just kissed me all his 
own self, Ruth." " Did he ? " said Ruth, opening her eyes 
very wide. Then she hurried on and walked close by her 
father's side, while at her little heart fluttered the hope that 
she too might receive a kiss. But she was not noticed ; and 
very much grieved she shrank away wondering if he loved 
Tillie best. 

" I dreamed of your father last night, John," said grand- 
mother while they were at breakfast, " and you can't think 
how good and natural he looked." John didn't say any- 
thing. During the forenoon John had a long conference 
with his wife which seemed to be satisfactory, for as he 
left her he said, " Well, then, you take the things out this 
afternoon, and Johnson shall come over to do the painting 
to-morrow." Before night the cheerful little spare room 
which adjoined the parlor was empty, and the old-fashioned 
paper, with its ever-recurring pictures of a shepherdess, a 
hunter, and Rebecca at the well, stripped from the walls. 

Silence was imposed upon the children, for " grandma'm 
must n't know," and the little things went round the house 
fairly aching with the importance of their secret, and hold- 
ing on to themselves for fear they might tell. Mysterious 
trips were taken in the old market-wagon, and a suspicious 
smell of new things filled the air ; but when grandmother 
inquired what was going on down-stairs, Ruth clapped both 
hands over her mouth and Tillie screamed, " O nuffin, 
grandma, on'y — O Rut hie, come down, quick ! " 

One bright May afternoon, however, the work was fin- 
ished, and John, jealous of the privilege, donned his Sunday 
coat and stumbled up to his mother's room in the most 



238 



SABBATH READINGS. 



awkward manner to break the news. " Mother, can you 
come down below a few minutes now?" said he, trying to 
appear unconcerned. 

"Why, la me!" smoothing her " front " and refolding 
her neckerchief, "has the minister come? I aint fixed up 
one bit." 

" No, no, mother, there's no occasion for fixin' up. It 
aint much of anything, only me — that is, — well, perhaps 
you'd better come now." 

"John," said the old lady solemnly, laying her hand on 
his arm, "if it's bad news, just tell me right away. The 
Lord will give me strength to bear it, just as he has the dis- 
pensations all along." 

Poor John ! how to acquaint the old lady with this "dis- 
pensation" he didn't know; but Tillie came to the rescue. 

"O g'anma," said she, seizing one of the wrinkled 
hands, " we can't wait another minute. It's all splendid; 
and Nick, and Ruth, and baby, and I have all got our clean 
aprons on, and Wesley, he's in, so come straight down," 
and timing her impatient hops to the tottering footsteps 
she guided, Tillie soon had grandmother in the midst of a 
smiling group, while the relieved father brought up the rear. 

" Now, g'anma," said Ruth, seizing the free hand, " shut 
up your eyes tight till we say open 'em," and then the de- 
lighted children, followed by the rest of the family, drew 
her into the old spare room. " Now, now, g'anma, open, 
open ! and what do you see ? " they cried, dancing and clap- 
ping their hands. Grandmother looked around her in per- 
fect amazement. Truly a wondrous change had been 
wrought I Beautiful light paper covered the walls, and a 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 239 



bright, soft carpet the floor, while pretty shades hung be- 
fore the four great windows, whose tassels swung back and 
forth in the sweet May air like bells, dumb for joy. 

"John, John, what does this mean ? " 

"It's your room, g'anma," shouted a chorus of voices. 

"Why, this is good enough for a queen! You can't 
mean it all for a poor old creature like me," and the darling 
old lady's eyes began to run over with happy tears, while 
John tried in vain to find voice to answer, and dear, patient 
Phoebe sobbed outright. 

"Why, g'anma," shouted little Nick at the top of his 
voice, " I shouldn't think you'd cry, 'cause this is the cutest 
room in the house ; and when me and Wes comes in, we've 
got to take off our boots and talk real soft. And Oh, just 
look at this table-cloth and this rug ! It feels like velvet ! 
and this stool — do you see? — it's got a cat's foot on every 
one of its legs. That's to put you foot on, you know ; and, 
O say, can't we play puss in the corner sometimes if we're 
easy?" "G'anma, I can almost smell the roses," said 
Ruth, patting the paper. 

So with the help of the children the room was chris- 
tened, everything examined and praised, and at last the 
noisy little troop withdrew. Then Grandmother Lyman, 
with a sense of exquisite comfort, sank into the nice, new 
arm-chair close to the window. 

" Like it pretty well, do you? " queried John, as he took 
another chair near her. 

" Like it ? It seems too good to be real. I've thought 
sometimes that perhaps in my mansion — heavenly, you 
know — I should find everything soft, and bright, and cozy 



240 



SABBATH READINGS. 



like ; but to have a room like this here on earth, why, John, 
I can't tell you how thankful I feel. 'T was lonesome up 
garret there, and yesterday I dragged in the old cradle and 
the little wheel to make it seem more social like ; but the 
cradle was empty and broken, and the wheel brought back 
the old days when I used to sit and spin, while your father 
husked corn; so they didn't cheer me up much. But I 
never mistrusted what you was doing dow r n here for me. 
John, I believe nothing but the Spirit of God could have 
coaxed you into this. Don't you think I'll see you a 
Christian yet before I die?" and the anxious mother laid 
her trembling hand on her son's big brown one. 

"Well, mother, I don't know;" then came a long pause, 
for the farmer, almost as silent habitually as the fields he 
tilled, could find no words to express his feelings. 

" I've been feelin' kind of queer lately, and seems as if 
everything has changed wonderfully. 'T was a shabby 
trick, my putting you up in that old room, and it troubled 
me considerably one night, and then other things kept com- 
ing up, till — well — I believe I'm the worst man on earth. 
Speaking of being a Christian, I guess likely I might fly 
about as easy. I wish I was an out-and-out one ; but I tell 
you what, mother, there aint a man in town but that would 
think I pretended it all so's to make a dollar out of some- 
body ;" and John drew his hand across his eyes, as though 
there w r ere tears starting somewhere w r hich must be warned 
to keep away from the windows. 

Grandmother didn't care if the tears did come in her 
eyes, for they were joyful ones. 

"Well, the Lord would know better," said she comfort- 




Copyrighted by M, A. Vroman. 1905. 

Christ 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 



241 



ingly, "and by and by others would. It'll be your works, 
as well as your words, that will tell if you're in earnest." 

"That's so, mother, that's so; the minister said that 
very thing last Sabbath. He's been preaching right at me 
this two months, and it made me mad at first. I thought 
I wouldn't give him a cent this year, but I guess he told 
the truth." 

"Yes, of course he did. That's what he's made for. 
But now, John, you won't give up seeking until you get the 
blessing, will you ? Promise me this and one thing more. 
Do n't let the love of this world, and the deceitfulness of 
riches, tempt you to give way to Satan for one minute." 

"Well, I'll see what I can do, but it looks like a great 
task before me." And John really felt as though he was 
preparing for a stern conflict. He went out to his work 
again, while Grandmother Lyman knelt down on the soft, 
bright carpet, the sunset light falling around her, and sent 
a prayer up to the Father's throne so full of thanksgiving 
and love that the answer was not delayed, but came, bring- 
ing peace and joy to her trusting heart. 

Pretty soon Phoebe came stealing in with a look of ap- 
prehension resting upon her countenance. 

" Mother," , said she, sinking into the first chair she 
reached, " I'm afraid John's going to die." 

"My child, what do you mean? " queried the old lady, 
pushing her spectacles to the top of her head. 

"Because he's changed so lately. Fixing up this room, 
you know, and being so gentle like — what can it mean un- 
less he's going to die ? " 

" Don't worry, Phoebe, John's just getting ready to live. 
I tell you, daughter, he's experiencing religion," 
16 



242 



SABBATH READINGS. 



A flash of joy lighted up Phoebe's worn face as she 
spoke. 

" Do you think so, mother ? Oh, if it only could be 
true ! " 

A cry from the kitchen called her thither again, but her 
heart was light, and old hymns sprang unbidden to her lips, 
all tuned to the upgushing happiness within. The little 
ones caught the infection, and capered up and down the old 
kitchen, until wearied out they dropped off to sleep and 
to bed. 

That day saw the beginning of true happiness in the old 
red farmhouse. Not but that John passed through many 
fierce struggles, for the world acquires a strong hold in 
forty-five years, but with God's help he gained the victory ; 
and humble and happy, one week later he called his little 
family together, and told them of his new hopes and pur- 
poses. We can not describe that scene, but surely the 
angels saw and rejoiced over it. Then once more, before 
his friends and neighbors in prayer-meeting, \vith trembling 
voice he related his experience. Tears and "amens" 
greeted it, all testifying to the spirit of true brotherly love. 
Some, to be sure, there were who said, " Can the leopard 
change his spots ? " But when, Sabbath after Sabbath, 
they saw that the head of the " Lyman pew " neither pre- 
tended to be asleep, nor to have forgotten his wallet when 
the much-abused green contribution bag swung along, but 
instead deposited therein the freshest scrip, they said, 
" Truly, this is the Lord's doings, and is marvelous in our 
eyes." 

Perhaps the story of the change at home is about as 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM. 243 



Tillie whispered it in the ear of a confidential friend. " You 
see pa asks a blessin' now 'fore we eats ; and then we read 
the Bible ; and he prays the Lord to keep us good all the 
day long ; and so we grow gooder and gooder. Pa bought 
mother a new black silk dress the other day, and Oh, he's 
so much lovinger than he ever was before ! " Yes, he was 
"lovinger," as Tillie called him, for truly he had passed 
from death unto life. 

The old homestead, too, soon began to change visibly. 
The shades of ugliness that had so long hung over it van- 
ished away. Its very angles seemed to grow less acute, 
and never, in its palmiest days, had it rejoiced in such bright 
coats of paint. But, with all the brightening up without 
and within, there was one most cozy place of all where the 
family was wont to assemble each Sabbath evening. 
a Seem's though it's always full of rainbows," Nick said ; 
but that must have been owing to the blessed influence of 
her who sat there, for this dearest of all nooks was " grand- 
mother's room." 



THE YOUNG MUSICIAN 




ONAS JOHNSON was the youngest son of an 
organ-builder in New England. He was a 
small, quiet boy, in no way remarkable except 
in his passion for harmonies. So great was 
his love for music, that from his most tender years he 
could not listen unmoved to the singing of his sisters as 
they went about their homely work ; and if the voices hap- 
pened to be discordant he ran shuddering from the sound. 
The choir of untutored singers in church services made 
tears fall from his eyes upon his hymn-book while he 
joined his small voice with theirs. 

Although Jonas let his tears fall unwittingly, the organ- 
builder saw them and treasured them in his heart. When 
the boy had reached his eleventh year the family left the 
countrv town and came to live in New York. Here the 
father determined to let his son learn the organ. 

" Remember, Jonas," said he, "I am a poor man, and 
can ill afford to go into this expense unless you do the 
244 




THE YOUNG MUSICIAN. 



245 



work before you manfully and patiently. I give you this 
profession instead of a trade because I believe it to be 
your wish." 

Jonas was entirely satisfied, and his slim fingers quiv- 
ered in the anticipation of one day being able to move 
those mysterious white and black keys to the sound and 
measure of Te Deums and chants. A teacher was selected 
whose manner of educating was thorough and profound. 
At the first lesson Jonas became unequivocally assured that 
the business was a serious one, when after a third time 
striking G instead of G-sharp, the heavy, quick blow of 
the master's stick hummed and stung across his hands as 
they hovered over the organ keys. Poor little fingers ! 
they could work no more that day — they were stiffened 
and red. He wept so profusely that he was requested to 
retire and to return in two days. 

All the way home he sobbed, and held his hands sus- 
pended from the wrists, a most pitiable object. "Ah! 
you old ruffian ! " soliloquized the tearful pupil, "won't my 
father give it to you for this ? " 

He found his father in the workshop. 

"Well," cried the organ-builder, "how went the les- 
son ? " He saw there had been trouble. 

Jonas with fresh tears showed his chafed fingers and 
told the event. The father listened with darkened brow, 
and when the sad tale was ended he solemnly led his son 
into a back room, and after inflicting a thorough corporal 
punishment, warned him in a terrible voice never again to 
complain of his master. 

Our hero felt for a while that this was almost beyond 



246 



SABBATH READINGS. 



human endurance, and for several hours he lay upon a pile 
of shavings plotting vengeance upon those he considered 
his worst enemies, when a sudden thrill shot through him 
at the sound of the rich organ tones. They came from his 
father's wareroom. Evidently a master hand was there. 
Jonas sat up and listened. It was the portion of a prelude 
by Sebastian Bach, and the marvelous harmonies seemed 
to speak to Jonas as the voice of a spirit. He rose upon 
his feet, and his whole soul trembled with the wonderful 
words it spoke to him, though as yet he hardly understood 
their meaning. He went to the door and gently opened 
it. The back of the high organ stood opposite to him. 
He did not wish to be observed, and he passed quietly 
along at the end of the large room until he saw the musi- 
cian. Could it be the master ? Yes, Jonas recognized 
the long curling beard, and even the baton as it lay upon a 
chair. Amidst the glowing chords the boy contrived to 
pass on unnoticed. He remembered that in two days he 
must again present himself. Could that terrible personage 
be confronted with an imperfect scale ? The very thought 
was a shudder. Besides, Jonas felt an inspiration now. 
He again burned to be a musician. The revengeful spirit 
had left him — he thought only of Sebastian Bach. 

A small organ had been placed in the little garret 
where Jonas slept. Thither he repaired, and commenced 
the work that ever since he has performed so well. 

The dreaded master found no fault with the next les- 
son, and as Jonas advanced and he perceived that he stud- 
ied with a zeal, an earnestness quite unusual in a boy, his 
stern manner relaxed, and he dared allow all the warmth 
of his heart to cheer his now beloved pupil. 



THE YOUNG MUSICIAN. 



247 



At the end of five months Jonas met with a great mis- 
fortune. His master, after a short and sudden illness, 
died — which so cut him down that the organ-builder feared 
for his son's health. The boy stoutly refused to work 
under any other teacher, assuring the family that he felt 
able now to go on alone. Early morning and late evening 
found the young musician at his organ in the garret. 
Those who read this biography will scarcely believe how 
great was his progress. But I state facts. 

Just after he had entered his twelfth year he happened 
to overhear two men, in a music store, conversing about a 
church in the upper part of the city, where the organist 
was to leave in a few weeks. Jonas listened. 

"He plays in too operatic a style to suit the congrega- 
tion,' ' said one. 

"Yes," said the other, "the simpler the playing the 
better they are pleased." 

"Where is the church ? " asked Jonas. 

" It is Saint C 's, in Street." 

Jonas returned to his organ, swelling with a new and 
great idea. The following Sabbath morning he went very 
early to the church. No person had arrived except the 
organist who was arranging music in the loft. Jonas 
stepped up the stairway and came round in front where he 
could see the selections. The organist turned at the in- 
trusion. 

"What do you want here, Sir ? " said he. 

"I heard there was to be a vacancy, Sir." 

" And do you know of one who wishes to occupy it ? " 

"I should like it." 



248 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"You?" 

"Yes, I am an organist. " 

This simple reply brought a smile to the lips of the 
questioner. He pointed to a page in the service, and said 
" Play that." And giving up his seat to Jonas, he went to 
the side to blow the bellows. Feeling nervous and anx- 
ious, Jonas began — at first tremulously, but gaining cour- 
age with every chord, he successfully accomplished the 
task, while the organist ran from the bellows to the music, 
and from the music to the bellows again in surprise. At 
the conclusion they both drew a long breath. 

"Well, that is remarkable ! " said the organist. " And 
you want the vacancy ? " 

"Very much," replied Jonas, trembling with pleasure. 

" Then come here this afternoon, just before church, 
and I will take you to the minister. He makes all these 
arrangements." 

The boy went home overflowing with great anticipa- 
tions. He said nothing to his father on the subject. He 
dared not trust himself yet. Never did hours pass so 
slowly as those between dinner and church that afternoon. 
But the good time came and Jonas was true to his appoint- 
ment, as was the organist, who took him into the vestry- 
room, and introduced him as an applicant for the vacancy. 

Tall, white-haired, and benign the minister stood as 
Jonas told him his desire. 

" Yes, my boy, the present organist will leave in three 
weeks. Will that give you time to become acquainted 
with our service ? " 

"Yes, Sir." 



THE YOUNG MUSICIAN. 



249 



" Then I have only to hear you play before deciding. 
Will you take the organist's place this afternoon ? He 
wall show you the forms." 

The proposal was sudden and unexpected, and made 
Jonas' heart quake ; but he felt that all depended on his 
courage, and he accepted. 

He took his seat before the great organ with a brave 
but serious spirit. The bell ceased tolling ; the minister 
entered ; and Jonas pressed his slight fingers upon the first 
chord of the voluntary, which, extemporaneous as it was, 
may be considered the corner-stone of his life. 

The music that afternoon was simple and pure as the 
heart from which it flowed. Again Jonas presented him- 
self before the minister, who received him in a most affec- 
tionate manner. 

"Keep to this simple style," said he, " and we shall 
never wish to change. How much salary have you fixed 
upon ? " 

" Indeed, Sir, I never thought of it. I only wished to 
play in a church." 

The minister sat down at a table, and taking pen and 
paper, went on : " You shall receive what we have always 
paid — the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars a year. 
I will draw the agreement. Come now, and sign your 
name." 

" Your chirography is not equal to your organ-playing," 
continued the minister, smiling, as he saw the childlike, 
uneven signature of Jonas Johnson: "but one cannot ex- 
pect everything of such a little fellow. Here, then, is the 
contract. Take care of it." 



250 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Jonas took leave of his friend and hurried home. 
When the family of the organ-builder gathered about the 
hearth-stone that evening, the youngest came to the father 
and drew forth his contract. 

"What is this, my son ? " 

"Jonas made no answer, but waited while the spec- 
tacles were adjusted on the respective noses of both 
parents — waited till they had read the agreement, and his 
father had taken two turns across the floor, and said, 
"He's going to be a great master, wife. God bless 
him!" And then he could wait no longer, but ran up to 
his little garret, and throwing himself upon the cot, gave 
vent to his welling heart in sobs of joy, and hope, and 
ambition. 

The organ-builder's prophecy came true. The world 
is now indebted to Jonas for some of its best church music. 
As a composer and teacher he is " great." Those who are 
as fortunate as the writer of this sketch in having him as a 
teacher to their children can truly say they know a " great 
master " of music. 

Jonas* perseverance to become a musician, notwith- 
standing the severe discipline to which he was subjected, 
was rewarded by success. And not only was his persever- 
ance commendable in accomplishing a musical education, but 
in securing a position in which to be useful. And every 
boy and girl should take this as a lesson, that by their own 
energy and perseverance may be laid the foundation of 
their success in life. 



Lyman Dean's Testimonials. 



X 



DO not believe two more worthy, excellent 
people could be found than Gideon Randal and 
his wife. To lift the fallen, and minister to 
the destitute was their constant habit and de- 



light, so that often they shortened their own comforts for 
the good of others. Mr. Randal's friends urged him to 
reduce his charities, as such generous giving might mar 
his fortune and bring him to want ; but his unfailing 
reply was : — 

" I think there's enough left to carry Martha and me 
through life, and some over. What we give to the poor, 
we lend to the Lord, and if a dark day comes, He will 
provide.' ' 

A dark day did come, but it was not till after he had 
reached threescore and ten years. As old age advanced, 
his little farm had become less productive, and debts ac- 
cumulated. Being forced to raise money, he had borrowed 
a thousand dollars of Eugene Harrington, giving him a 
mortgage on his house for security. The interest was 
regularly paid, and with this Esquire Harrington was well 
satisfied ; but he died suddenly, and his son, a merciless, 
grasping man, wrote to Mr. Randal, demanding payment 
of the mortgage. The old man asked for an extension of 
the time, but he pressed the demand, and threatened if it 
was not settled within a given time, to deprive him of his 
home. Mr. Randal was greatly distressed. 



252 SABBATH READINGS. 



" Martha," he said to his wife, "young Harrington is a 
hard man. He has me in his power now, and I fear he 
will not scruple to ruin me. I think I had better go and 
talk with him, and tell him how little I have. It may be 
hell pity two old people, and allow us better terms/ ' 

"But husband, you are not used to traveling, and Har- 
rowtown is a hundred miles away, and you are old and 
feeble, too." 

" True, wife, but I can say to him a great deal more 
than I can write, and besides, Luke Conway lives there. 
I took an interest in him when he was a poor boy. Per- 
haps he'll advise and help me, now that I'm in trouble." 

At last, seeing he felt that he must go, Martha reluc- 
tantly consented, and fitted him out with wifely care. 

The next morning was warm and sunny for November, 
and Mr. Randal started for Harrowtown. 

"Gideon," called Mrs. Randal, as he walked slowly 
down the road, " be sure and take tight hold of the railing 
when you get in and out of the cars." 

" I'll be careful. You take good care of yourself, 
Martha;" and, with a parting look, the old man hastened 
on to take the stage, which was to convey him to the rail- 
road station. But misfortune met him at the very outset 
of his journey. The stage was heavily loaded, and on the 
way, one of the wheels broke down, which caused such a 
detention that Mr. Randal missed the morning train, and 
the next did not come for several hours. 

It was afternoon when he finally started. He was 
anxious and weary from long waiting ; and after three sta- 
tions were passed, he began to ask questions. 



LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS. 253 



" How long before we get to Harrowtown ? " he in- 
quired, stopping the busy conductor. 
" We get there at half past eight." 

Another question was upon Mr. Randal's lips, but the 
conductor had hurried on. He looked around as if to ap- 
peal to some one else, but turned back, talking to himself. 
" Not get there till into the evening," he said, "and pitch 
dark, for there's no moon now. I shan't know where to 
go." The poor old man was sorely troubled. 

Presently the conductor came back, and as he passed 
his seat, he stopped him again. 

" Mr. Conductor, how shall I know when to get out ? 
I've never been to Harrowtown, and I don't want to get 
out at the wrong place." 

"Give yourself no concern," was the polite reply. 
"I'll tell you when we come to Harrowtown. I won't 
forget you." 

Soothed by this assurance, Mr. Randal's mind grew 
tranquil, and he finally went to sleep. 

In the seat behind him sat a tall, handsome boy. His 
name was Albert Gregory. He was bright and intelligent, 
but his well-featured face was spoiled by a wicked-looking 
eye and a hard, cruel mouth. 

He saw the aged passenger fall asleep, and nudged his 
seat-fellow. 

" Look there, John. By and by, I'll play a joke 011 
that old country greeny, and you'll see fun." 

On rushed the sw r ift express ; mile after mile was 
passed ; daylight faded and the lamps were lit in the cars, 
and still the aged man slept, watched by his purposed tor- 
mentor, and the other boy who waited to "see fun." 



254 



SABBATH READINGS. 



At length the speed of the train began to slacken, com- 
ing near a stopping-place. Albert sprang up and shook 
Mr. Randal violently. 

"Wake up ! Wake up ! " he called, sharply, putting his 
mouth close to his ear. "This is Harrowtown. You must 
get off here." 

The old man, thus roughly roused, started from his 
seat and gazed around him, bewildered. The change from 
day to night, the unaccustomed waking on a moving train, 
the glare of the lights, added tenfold to his confusion. 

"Wh — what did you say boy?" he asked helplessly. 

"This is Harrowtown. The place where you want to 
stop. You must get off. Be quick or you'll be car- 
ried by." 

The noise of the brakes, and the distracted attention of 
the passengers on reaching a new station, possibly igno- 
rance of the real locality on the part of those near enough 
to have heard him, prevented any correction of the boy's 
cruel falsehood. Mr. Randal knew it was not the con- 
ductor who had aroused him ; but, supposing Albert to be 
some employee of the road, he hurried to the car door with 
tottering steps. The name of the station was called at the 
other end, as unlike as possible tc the name of " Harrow- 
town," but his dull ears did not notice it. He got off 
upon the platform, and before he could recover himself or 
knew his error, the train was in motion again. 

Albert was in ecstasies over the success of his "joke," 
and shook all over with laughter, in which, of course, his 
companion joined. "Oh dear! that's too good for any- 
thing ! " he cried, " aint it, John ? " 



LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS. 255 



John assented that it was very funny indeed. 

Neither of the boys noticed that the seat lately occu- 
pied by poor, deceived Mr. Randal had just been taken by 
a fine-looking middle-aged man, wrapped in a heavy cloak, 
who appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts, but 
really heard every word they said. 

They kept up a brisk conversation, Albert speaking in 
quite a loud tone, for he was feeling very merry. " Ha, 
ha, ha ! — but I did think the old fool would hear the brake- 
man call the station, though. I didn't suppose I could 
get him any further than the door. To think of his clam- 
bering clear out on the platform, and getting left ! He be- 
lieved every word I told him. What a delicious old 
simpleton!" 

And having exhausted that edifying subject for the 
moment, he presently began to brag of his plans and 
prospects. 

"I don't believe you stand much of a chance there; 
they say Luke Conway is awful particular," the middle- 
aged stranger heard John remark. 

"Pooh ! shut up ! " cried Albert. "Particular! That's 
just it, and makes my chance all the better. I've brought 
the kind of recommendation that a particular man wants, 
you see. ,, 

" But there'll be lots of other fellows trying for the 
place." 

" Don't care if there's fifty," said Albert, " I'd come in 
ahead of 'em all. I've got testimonials of character and 
qualifications from Professor Howe, Rev. Joseph Lee, Dr. 
Henshaw, and Esquire Jenks, the great railroad contractor. 
His name alone is enough to secure me the situation." 



256 



SABBATH READINGS. 



At this juncture, the strange gentleman turned around 
and gave Albert a quick, searching glance. But the con- 
ceited boy was too much occupied with himself to notice 
the movement, and kept on talking. Now and then the 
thought of the victim whom he had fooled seemed to come 
back and tickle him amazingly. " Wonder where the old 
man is now. Ha, ha ! Do you suppose he has found out 
where Harrowtown is ? Oh, but wasn't it rich to see how 
scared he was when I waked him up? And how he 
jumped and scrambled out of the car ! ' Pon my word, 
I never saw anything so comical. " 

Here the stranger turned again and shot another quick 
glance, this time from indignant eyes, and his lips parted 
as if about to utter a stern reproof. But he did not speak. 
Some hidden motive withheld him. 

We will now leave Albert and his fellow travelers, and 
follow good Gideon Randal. 

It was quite dark when he stepped from the cars, and 
he inquired of a man at the station, (( Can you tell me 
where I can find Mr. Aaron Harrington ? " 

"There's no such man living here, to my knowledge," 
was the reply. 

"What, isn't this Harrowtown?" asked Mr. Randal in 
great consternation. 

" No, it is Whipple Village." 

" Then I got out at the wrong station. What shall I 
do ? " in a voice of deep distress. 

" Go right to the hotel and stay till the train goes in 
the morning," said the man, pleasantly. 

There was no alternative, Mr. Randal passed a restless 



LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS. 257 



night at the hotel, and at an early hour he was again at 
the station, waiting for the train. His face was pale, and 
his eye wild and anxious. "The stage broke down, and I 
missed the first train," thought he, "and then that boy 
told me to get out here. I've made a bad beginning, and 
I'm afraid this trip will have a bad ending." 

There were other passengers walking to and fro on 
the platform, waiting for the cars to come. 

One was a plain-featured, honest-looking boy, who had 
been accompanied to the station by his mother. Just be- 
fore his mother bade him good by, she said, " Lyman, look 
at that pale, sad, old man. I don't believe he is used to 
traveling. Perhaps you can help him along." 

Soon a loud, prolonged whistle was heard. The cars 
were coming. 

"Allow me to assist you, sir," said Lyman Dean to 
Mr. Randal, as the train stopped ; and he took hold of his 
arm, and guided him into a car to a seat. 

"Thank you, my boy. I'm getting old and clumsy, 
and a little help from a young hand comes timely. Where 
are you going, if I may ask ? " 

" To Harrowtown, sir. I saw an advertisement for a 
boy in a store, and I'm going to try to get the situation. 
My name is Lyman Dean." 

" Ah ? I'm sure I wish you success, Lyman, for I be- 
lieve you're a good boy. You are going to the same place 
I am. I want to find Aaron Harrington, but I've had two 
mishaps. I don't know what's coming next." 

"I'll show T you right where his office is. I've been in 
Harrowtown a good many times." 
17 



258 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Half an hour later, the brakeman shouted the name of 
the station where they must stop. Lyman assisted Mr. 
Randal off the train, and walked with him to the principal 
street. " Here's Mr Harrington's office," said he. 

" Oh, yes, thank you kindly. And now could you tell 
me where Mr. Luke Conway's place of business is ? " 

"Why, that's the very gentleman I'm going to see," 
said Lyman. " His place is just round the corner, only 
two blocks off." 

Mr. Randal looked deeply interested. He turned and 
shook the boy's hand warmly. "Lyman," he said, "Mr. 
Conway knows me. I am coming to see him by and by. 
I am really obliged to you for your politeness, and wish I 
could do something for you. I hope Mr. Conway will give 
you the situation, for you deserve it. If you apply before 
I get there, tell him Gideon Randal . is your friend. 
Good by." 

Fifteen minutes after found Lyman waiting in the count- 
ing-room of Luke Conway's store. Albert Gregory had 
just preceded him. The merchant was writing, and he had 
requested the boys to be seated a short time, till he was at 
leisure. Before he finished his work, a slow, feeble step 
was heard approaching, and an old man stood in the 
doorway. 

"Luke, don't you remember me?" The merchant 
looked up at the sound of the voice. Then he sprang up 
from his chair and grasped the old man's hands in both his 
own. " Mr. Randal ! Welcome, a thousand times wel- 
come, my benefactor!" he exclaimed. And seating his 
guest on the office lounge beside him, Mr. Conway in- 



LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS. 259 



quired after his health and comfort, and talked with him as 
a loving son. It was evident to the quick perception of 
the merchant that the good old man's circumstances had 
changed, and he soon made it easy for him to unburden 
his mind. 

H Yes, Luke, I am in trouble. Aaron Harrington 
owns a mortgage on my farm, and I can't pay him, and he 
threatens to take my home," said Mr. Randal, with a quiv- 
ering lip. "I went to his office, but didn't find him, and 
I thought may be you'd advise me what to do." 

" Mr. Randal," answered the merchant, laying his hand 
on the old man's shoulder, " almost thirty years ago when 
I was cold, and hungry, and friendless, you took me in 
and fed me. Your good wife — God bless her ! — made me 
a suit of clothes with her own hands. You found me 
work, and you gave me money when I begun the world 
alone. Much if not all that I am in life I owe to your 
sympathy and help, my kind old friend. Now I am rich, 
and you must let me cancel my debt. I shall pay your 
mortgage to-day. You shall have your home free again. " 

" Mr. Randal wiped great hot tears from his cheeks, 
and said in a husky voice, " It is just as I told Martha. I 
knew if we lent our money to the Lord, when a dark day 
came, he would provide." 

The reader can imagine the different feelings of the two 
boys, as they sat witnesses of the scene. The look of 
derision, that changed to an expression of sickly dismay, 
on Albert's face, when the old man came in and was so 
warmly greeted by the merchant, was curiously suggestive. 
But his usual assurance soon returned. He thought it un- 



260 



SABBATH READINGS. 



likely that Mr. Randal would recognize him in the day- 
light, and he determined to put on a bold front. 

For a minute the two men continued in conversation. 
Mr. Conway called up pleasant reminiscences of " Aunt 
Martha," his boy-life on the farm, and the peace and still- 
ness of the country town. He thought a railway ride of 
a hundred miles must be a hardship for a quiet old man. 
" It was a long way for you," he said, "Did you have a 
comfortable journey ? " 

" Well, I can't quite say that. First, the stage broke 
down and delayed me. Then I slept in the cars, and a 
boy played a trick on me, and waked me up, and made me 
get out at the wrong station, so I had to stay over night in 
Whipple Village. To tell the truth I had a good deal of 
worriment with one thing and another, getting here ; but 
it's all bright now," he added with a radiant face. 

" You shall go with me to my house and rest, as soon 
as I have dismissed these boys," said Mr Conway, ear- 
nestly ; and turning to Albert and Lyman, who anxiously 
waited, he spoke to them about their errand. 

"I suppose you came because you saw my advertise- 
ment ?" 

" Yes, sir," replied both, simultaneously. 
"Very well. I believe you came in first. What is 
your name ? ' ' 

" I am Albert Gregory, sir. I think I can suit you. 
Fve brought testimonials of ability and character from 
some of the first men — Esquire Jenkins, Rev. Joseph Lee, 
Dr. Henshaw, and others. Here are my letters of recom- 
mendation," holding them out for Mr. Conway to take. 



LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS. 261 



"I don't want to see them," returned the merchant, 
coldly. " I have seen you before, I understand your 
character well enough for the present.' ' 

He then addressed a few words to Lyman Dean. 

" I should be very glad of work," said Lyman. " My 
mother is poor, and I want to earn my living, but I hav'n't 
any testimonials." 

"Yes, you have," said old Mr. Randal, who was wait- 
ing for an opportunity to say that very thing. And then 
he told the merchant how polite and helpful Lyman had 
been to him. 

Mr. Conway fixed his eyes severely upon the other boy. 
The contrast between him and young Dean was cer- 
tainly worth a lesson. 

"Albert Gregory," said the merchant, " I occupied the 
seat in the car in front of you last evening. I heard you 
exulting and wickedly boasting how you had deceived a dis- 
tressed old man. Mr. Randal, is this the boy who lied to 
you, and caused you to get out at the wrong station ? " 

Mr. Randal looked earnestly at Albert. " I declare ! 
Now I remember him. It is ! I'm sure it is." 

It was useless for Albert to attempt any vindication of 
himself. His stammered excuses stuck in his throat, and 
he was glad to hide his mortification by an early escape. 
Crestfallen, he slunk away, taking all his "testimonials" 
with him. 

"Lyman," said Mr. Conway, kindly, "I shall be very 
glad to employ you in my store. You shall have good pay 
if you do well, and I am sure you will. You may begin 
work at once." 



262 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Lyman's eyes danced with joy as he left the counting- 
room to receive his instructions from the head clerk. 

Mr. Conway paid to Mr. Harrington the money owed 
him by Mr. Randal, and a heavy load was lifted from the 
good old farmer's heart. He remained a visitor two or 
three days in Mr. Conway's house, where he was treated 
with the utmost deference and attention. Mr. Conway also 
purchased for him a suit of warm clothes, and an overcoat, 
and sent his confidential clerk with him on his return 
journey to see him safely home. Nor was good Mrs. Ran- 
dal forgotten. She received a handsome present in money 
from Mr. Conway, and a message full of grateful affection. 
Nothing ever after occurred to disturb the lives of the aged 
and worthy pair. 

Albert Gregory obtained an excellent situation in New 
York, but his false character, and his wanton disregard of 
others' feelings and rights, made him as hateful to his em- 
ployers as to all his associates, and he soon found it desir- 
able to seek another place. 

He has changed places many times since, and his career 
has been an unhappy one — another example of the penalty 
of frivolous habits and a heartless nature. 

Lyman Dean is now a successful merchant, a partner 
of Mr. Conway, and occupies a high position in society, as 
an honorable, enterprising man. 





AVE you examined that bill, James ?" 

" Yes, sir." 
I " Anything wrong ? " 
) "I find two errors/' 



" Ah, let me see." 

The lad handed his employer a long bill that had been 
placed on his desk for examination. 

" Here is an error in the calculation of ten dollars, which 
they have made against themselves; and another of ten 
dollars in the footing/' 

"Also against themselves ?" 

"Yes, sir" 

The merchant smiled in a way that struck the lad as 
peculiar. 

"Twenty dollars against themselves/' he remarked in a 
kind of pleasant surprise. " Trusty clerks they must have ! " 

" Shall I correct the figures ? " asked the lad. 

"No, let them correct their own mistakes. We don't 
examine bills for other people's benefit," replied the mer- 

263 



264 



SABBATH READINGS. 



chant. "It will be time to rectify those errors when they 
find them out. All so much gain as it now stands." 

The boy's delicate moral sense was shocked at so unex- 
pected a remark. He was the son of a poor widow, who 
had given him to understand that to be just was the duty 
of man. 

Mr. Carman, the merchant in whose employment he had 
been for only a few months, was an old friend of his father, 
and a person in whom he reposed the highest confidence. 
In fact, James had always looked upon him as a kind of 
model man ; and when Mr Carman agreed to take him into 
his store, he felt that great good fortune was in his way. 

" Let them correct their own mistakes." These words 
made a strong impression on the mind of James Lewis. 
When first spoken by Mr. Carman, and with the meaning 
then involved, he felt, as we have said, shocked ; but as he 
turned them over again in his thoughts, and connected 
their utterance with a person who stood so high in his 
mother's estimation, he began to think that perhaps the 
thing was fair enough in business. Mr. Carman was hardly 
the man to do wrong. A few days after James had exam- 
ined the bill, a clerk from the house by which it had been 
rendered, called for settlement. The lad, who was present, 
waited with interest to see whether Mr. Carman would 
speak of the error. But he made no remark. A check for 
the amount of the bill rendered, was filled up, and a receipt 
taken. 

"Is that right?" James asked himself this question. 
His moral sense said no ; but the fact that Mr. Carman had 
so acted, bewildered his mind. 



UNFORGOTTEN WORDS. 265 



" It may be the way in business " — so he thought to 
himself — "but it don't look honest. I wouldn't have be- 
lieved it of him/' 

Mr. Carman had a kind of way with him that won the 
boy's heart, and naturally tended to make him judge of 
whatever he might do in a most favorable manner. 

"I wish he had corrected that error," he said to himself 
a great many times when thinking in a pleased way of Mr. 
Carman, and his own good fortune in having been received 
into his employment. "It don't look right, but it may be 
in the way of business." 

One day he went to the bank and drew the money for a 
check. In counting it over he found that the teller had 
paid him fifty dollars too much, so he went back to the 
counter and told him of his mistake. The teller thanked 
him, and he returned to the store with the consciousness in 
his mind of having done right. 

" The teller overpaid me by fifty dollars," he said to Mr. 
Carman, as he handed him the money. 

"Indeed," replied the latter, a light breaking over his 
countenance ; and he hastily counted the bank bills. 

The light faded as the last bill left his fingers. 

"There's no mistake, James." A tone of disappoint- 
ment was in his voice. 

" Oh, I gave him back the fifty dollars. Wasn't that 
right?" 

"You simpleton!" exclaimed Mr. Carman. "Don't 
you know that bank mistakes are never corrected ? If the 
teller had paid you fifty dollars short he would not have 
made it right." 



266 



SABBATH READINGS. 



The warm blood mantled the cheek of James under this 
reproof. It is often the ease that more shame is felt for a 
blunder than a crime. In this instance the lad felt a sort 
of mortification at having done what Mr, Carman was 
pleased to call a silly thing, and he made up his mind that 
if they should ever overpay him a thousand dollars at the 
bank, he should bring the amount to his employer, and let 
him do as he pleased with the money. 

" Let people look after their own mistakes," said Mr. 
Carman. 

James Lewis pondered these things in his heart. The 
impression they made was too strong ever to be forgotten. 
" It may be right," he said, but he did not feel altogether 
satisfied. 

A month or two after the occurrence of that bad mis- 
take, as James counted over his weekly wages, just received 
from Mr. Carman, he discovered that he was paid half a 
dollar too much. 

The first impulse of his mind was to return the half- 
dollar to his employer, and it was on his lips to say, " You 
have given me half a dollar too much, sir/' when the unfor- 
gotten words, " Let people look after their own mistakes," 
flashing upon his thoughts, made him hesitate. To hold a 
parley with evil is to be overcome. 

"I must think about this," said James, as he put the 
money in his pocket. " If it is true in one case, it is true 
in another. Mr. Carman don't correct mistakes that peo- 
ple make in his favor, and he can't complain when the rule 
works against him." 

But the boy was very far from being in a comfortable 



UNFORGOTTEN WORDS. 267 



state. He felt that to keep half a dollar would be a dis- 
honest act. Still he could not make up his mind to return 
it, at least not then. 

James did not return the half-dollar, but spent it to his 
own gratification. After he had done this it came suddenly 
into his head that Mr. Carman had only been trying him, 
and he was filled with anxiety and alarm. 

Not long after Mr. Carman repeated the same mistake. 
James kept the half-dollar with less hesitation. 

" Let him correct his own mistakes," said he resolutely ; 
" that's the doctrine he acts on with other people, and he 
can't complain if he gets paid in the same coin he puts in 
circulation. I just wanted half a dollar." 

From this time the fine moral sense of James Lewis was 
blunted. He had taken an evil counselor into his heart, 
stimulated a spirit of covetousness — latent in almost every 
mind — which caused him to desire the possession of things 
beyond his ability to obtain. 

James had good business qualifications, and so pleased 
Mr. Carman by his intelligence, industry, and tact with 
customers, that he advanced him rapidly, and gave him, be- 
fore he was eighteen years of age, the most reliable position 
in the store. But James had learned something more from 
his employer than how to do business well. He had learned 
to be dishonest. He had never forgotten the first lesson 
he had received in this bad science ; he had acted upon it, 
not only in two instances, but in a hundred, and almost al- 
ways to the injury of Mr. Carman. He had long since 
given up waiting for mistakes to be made in his favor, but 
originated them in the varied and complicated transactions 
of a large business in which he was trusted implicitly. 



268 



SABBATH READINGS. 



James grew sharp, cunning, and skilful ; always on the 
alert ; always bright, and ready to meet any approaches 
towards a discovery of his wrong-doing by his employer, 
who held him in the highest regard. 

Thus it went on until James Lewis was in his twentieth 
year, when the merchant had his suspicions aroused by a 
letter that spoke of the young man as not keeping the most 
respectable company, and as spending money too freely for 
a clerk on a moderate salary. 

Before this time James had removed his mother into a 
pleasant house, for which he paid a rent of four hundred 
dollars ; his salary was eight hundred, but he deceived his 
mother by telling her it was fifteen hundred. Every com- 
fort that she needed was fully supplied, and she was begin- 
ning to feel that, after a long and painful struggle with the 
world, her happier days had come. 

James was at his desk wLcm the letter was received by 
Mr. Carman. He looked at his employer and saw him 
change countenance suddenly. He read it over twice, and 
James saw that the contents produced disturbance. Mr. 
Carman glanced towards the desk, and their eyes met ; it 
was only for a moment, but the look that James received 
made his heart stop beating. 

There was something about the movements of Mr. Car- 
man for the rest of the day that troubled the young man. 
It was plain to him that suspicion had been aroused by that 
letter. Oh, how bitterly now did he repent, in dread of 
discover}' and punishment, the evil of which he had been 
guilty ! Exposure would disgrace and ruin him, and bow 
the head of his widowed mother even to the grave. 



UN FORGOTTEN WORDS. 



269 



" You are not well this evening/"' said Mrs. Lewis, as 
she looked at her son's changed face across the table, and 
noticed that he did not eat. 

" My head aches." 

"Perhaps a rest will make you feel better." 

" I'll lie down on the sofa in the parlor for a short time." 

Mrs. Lewis followed him into the parlor in a little while, 
and, sitting down on the sofa on which he was lying, placed 
her hand upon his head. Ah, it would take more than the 
loving pressure of a mother's hand to ease the pain from 
which he was suffering. The touch of that pure hand in- 
creased the pain to agony. 

"Do you feel better?" asked Mrs. Lewis. She had 
remained some time with her hand on his forehead. 

"Not much," he replied, and rising as he spoke, he 
added, "I think a walk in the open air will do me good." 

"Don't go out, James," said Mrs. Lewis, a troubled 
feeling coming into her heart. 

" I'll walk only a few squares." And James went from 
the parlor and passed into the street. 

"There is something more than headache the matter 
with him," thought Mrs. Lewis. 

For half an hour James walked without any purpose in 
his mind beyond the escape from the presence of his mother. 
At last his walk brought him near Mr. Carman's store, and 
at passing he was surprised at seeing a light within. 

"What can this mean? " he asked himself, a new fear 
creeping, with its shuddering impulse, into his heart. 

He listened by the door and windows, but he could hear 
no sound within. 



270 



SABBATH READINGS. 



There's something wrong," he said, "what can it be? 
If this is discovered what will be the end of it ? Ruin ! 
ruin ! My poor mother ! " 

The wretched young man hastened on, walked the 
streets for two hours, when he returned home. His mother 
met him when he entered, and with unconcealed anxiety, 
asked him if he were better. He said yes, but in a manner 
that only increased the trouble she felt, and passed up 
hastily to his own room. 

In the morning the strangely altered face of James, as 
he met his mother at the breakfast table, struck alarm into 
her heart. He was silent, and evaded all her questions. 
While they sat at the table the door-bell rang loudly. The 
sound startled James, and he turned his head to listen, in a 
nervous way. 

"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Lewis. 

"A gentleman who wishes to see Mr. James," replied 
the girl. 

James rose instantly and went out into the hall, shutting 
the dining-room door as he did so. Mrs. Lewis sat waiting 
her son's return. She heard him coming back in a few 
moments ; but he did not enter the dining-room. Then he 
returned along the hall to the street door and she heard it 
shut. All was silent. Starting up, she ran into the pas- 
sage, but James was not there. He had gone away with the 
person who called. 

Ah, that was a sad going away. Mr. Carman had spent 
half the night in examining the accounts of James, and dis- 
covered frauds of over six thousand dollars. Blindly indig- 
nant, he sent an officer to arrest him early in the morning ; 



UNFORGOTTEN WORDS. 



271 



and it was with this officer that he went away from his 
mother, never to return. 

" The young villain shall lie in the bed he has made for 
himself!" exclaimed Mr. Carman, in his bitter indignation 
And he made the exposure completely. At the trial he 
showed an eager desire to have him convicted, and pre- 
sented such an array of evidence that the jury could not 
give any other verdict than guilty. 

The poor mother was in court, and audibly in the silence 
that followed came her convulsed sobs upon the air. The 
presiding judge addressed the culprit, and asked if he had 
anything to say why the sentence should not be pronounced 
against him. All eyes were turned upon the pale, agitated 
young man, who rose with an effort, and leaned against the 
railing by which he stood, as if needing the support. 

u Will it please your honors," he said, "to direct my 
prosecutor to come a little nearer, so that I can look at him 
and your honors at the same time ? " 

Mr. Carman was directed to come forward to where the 
boy stood. James looked at him steadily for a few moments, 
and turned to the judges. 

" What I have to say to your honors is this [he spoke 
calmly and distinctly], and it may in a degree extenuate, 
though it cannot excuse, my crime. I went into that man's 
store an innocent boy, and if he had been an honest man I 
would not have stood before you to-day as a criminal ! " 

Mr. Carman appealed to the court for protection against 
an allegation of such an outrageous character ; but he was 
peremptorily ordered to be silent. James went on in a firm 
voice, — 



272 SABBATH READINGS. 



" Only a few weeks after I went into his employment I 
examined a bill by his direction, and discovered an error of 
twenty dollars." 

The face of Mr. Carman crimsoned. 

"You remember it, I see," remarked James, "and I 
shall have cause to remember it as long as I live. The 
error was in favor of Mr. Carman. I asked if I should cor- 
rect the figures, and he answered ' Xo ; let them correct 
their own mistakes. We do n't examine bills for other peo- 
ple's benefit/ It was my first lesson in dishonesty. I saw 
the bill settled, and Mr. Carman take twenty dollars that 
was not his own. I felt shocked at first ; it seemed such a 
wrong thing. But soon after he called me a simpleton for 
handing back a fifty-dollar bill to the teller of a bank, which . 
he had overpaid me on a check, and then — " 

"May I ask the protection of the court" said Mr. 
Carman. 

"Is it true what the lad says ?" asked the presiding 
judge. 

Mr. Carman hesitated and looked confused. All eyes 
were on his face; and judges and jury, lawyers and spec- 
tators, felt certain that he was guilty of leading the unhappy 
young man astray. 

"Not long afterward," resumed Lewis, "in receiving 
my wages I found that Mr. Carman had paid me fifty cents 
too much. I was about to give it back to him, when I re- 
membered his remark about letting people correct their 
own mistakes, and said to myself, < Let him correct his own 
errors,' and dishonestly kept the money. Again the same 
thing happened, and I kept the money that did not of right 



UNFORGOTTEN WORDS. 



273 



belong to me. This was the beginning of evil, and here I 
am. If he had shown any mercy, I might have kept silent 
and made no defense." 

The young man covered his face with his hands, and sat 
down overpowered with his feelings. His mother who was 
near him sobbed aloud, and bending over, laid her hands on 
his head, saying : — 

" My poor boy ! my poor boy ! " 

There were few eyes in the court-room undlmmed. In 
the silence that followed Mr. Carman spoke out : — 

" Is my character to be thus blasted on the word of a 
criminal, your honors ? Is this right ? " 

" Your solemn oath that this charge is untrue," said the 
judge, "will place you in the right." It was the unhappy 
boy's only opportunity, and the court felt bound in humanity 
to hear him. 

James Lewis stood up again instantly, and turned his 
white face and dark, piercing eyes upon Mr, Carman. 

" Let him take his oath if he dare ! " he exclaimed. 

Mr. Carman consulted with his counsel, and withdrew. 

After a brief conference with his associates, the presid- 
ing judge said, addressing the criminal: — 

" In consideration of your youth, and the temptation to 
which in tender years you were unhappily subject, the court 
gives you the slightest sentence, one year's imprisonment. 
But let me solemnly warn you against any further steps in 
the way you have taken. Crime can have no valid excuse. 
It is evil in the sight of God and man, and leads only to 
suffering. When you come forth again after your brief in- 
carceration, may it be with the resolution to die rather than 
commit crime!" 



274 SABBATH READINGS, 



And the curtain fell on that sad scene in the boy's life. 
When it was lifted again, and he came forth from prison a 
year afterwards, his mother was dead. From the day her 
pale face faded from his vision as he passed from the court- 
room, he never looked upon her again. 

Ten years afterward a man was reading a newspaper in 
a far western town. He had a calm, serious face, and 
looked like one who had known suffering and trial. 

" Brought to justice at last ! " he said to himself, as the 
blood came to his face ; " convicted on the charge of open 
insolvency, and sent to State prison. So much for the man 
who gave me in tender years the first lessons in ill-doing. 
But, thank God ! the other lessons have been remembered, 
'When you come forth again/ said the judge, 4 may it be 
with the resolution to die rather than commit a crime ! ' and 
I have kept this injunction in my heart when there seemed 
no way of escape except through crime ; and God helping 
me, I will keep it to the end." 



Herrings for Nothing. 



HE darkness was coming on rapidly, as a man 
with a basket on his head turned the corner of a 
street in London. He cried loudly as he went, 
"Herrings! three a penny, red herrings, good 
and cheap, at three a penny ! " 

Soon he came close to me and commenced conversation. 
" Governor, why can't I sell these herrings ? I have 
walked two miles along this dismal place, offering them ; 
and nobody will buy." 

"The people have no work at all to do, and they are 
starving ; there are plenty of houses round here that have 
not had a penny in them for many a day," was my reply. 

"Ah! then, governor," he rejoined, "if they haven't 
the half -pence, they can't spend 'em, sure enough ; so 
there's nothing for me but to carry 'em elsewhere." 
" How much will you take for the lot ? " I inquired. 
"I'll be glad to get four shillin'." 

I put my hand in my pocket, produced that amount and 
transferred it to him. 

■ " Right 1 governor, thank'ee! what '11 I do with 'em ? " 
he said, as he quickly transferred the coins to his own 
pocket. 

" Go round this corner into the middle of the street, 
shout with all your might, — 

* HERRINGS FOR NOTHING ! J 

2 75 




2j6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



and give three to every man, woman, and child, that comes 
to you, till the basket is emptied. " 

So he proceeded into the middle of the street, and went 
along shouting, " Herrings for nothing ! good red herrings 
for nothing ! " 

I stood at the corner to watch his progress ; and soon 
he neared the house where a tall woman stood at the first 
floor window looking out upon him. 

" Here you are missus," he cried, " herrings for nothing ! 
come an* take 'em." 

The woman shook her head unbelievingly, and left the 
window. 

"Vot a fool!" said he; "but they won't all be so. 
Herrings for nothing ! " A little child came out to look at 
him, and he called to her, " Here, my dear, take these in to 
your mother, and tell her how cheap they are — herrings for 
nothing." But the child was afraid of him and them, and 
ran in-doors. So, down the street, in the snow, slush, and 
mud, went the cheap fish, the vender crying loudly as he 
went, " Herrings for nothing ! " and then adding savagely, 
" Oh, you fools." Thus he reached the end of the street ; 
and then turning to retrace his steps, he continued his 
double cry as he came. 

"Well," I said to him calmly, as he reached me at the 
corner. 

"Well!" he repeated, "if yer think so! When yer 
gave me the money for herrings as yer did n't want, I 
thought you was training for a lunatic 'sylum ! Now I 
thinks all the people round here are fit company for yer. 
But what'll I do with the herrings if yer don't want 'em, 
and they won't have 'em ? " 



HERRINGS FOR NOTHING. 



277 



" We'll try again together/' I replied; "I will go with 
you and we'll both shout." 

Into the road we both went, and he shouted once more, 
" Herrings for nothing ! " 

"Then I called out loudly also, "Will any one have 
some herrings for tea ? " 

They heard my voice, and they knew it well ; and they 
came out at once, in twos and threes and sixes, men and 
women and children, all striving to reach the welcome food. 
As fast as I could take them from the basket, I handed 
three to each eager applicant, until all were speedily dis- 
posed of. When the basket was empty, the hungry crowd 
that had none was far greater than that which had been 
supplied ; but they were too late, there were no more " her- 
rings for nothing ! " 

Foremost among the disappointed was a tall woman of 
a bitter tongue, who began vehemently, "Why haven't I 
got any ? aint I as good as they ? aint my children as 
hungry as theirs ? " 

Before I had time to reply, the vender stretched out his 
arm toward her, saying, "Why, governor, that's the very 
woman as I offered 'em to first, and she turned up her nose 
at 'em." 

"I didn't," she rejoined passionately, "I didn't believe 
you meant it!" 

" Yer goes without for yer unbelief!" he replied. 
" Good-night, and thank'ee, governor I " 

I told this story upon the sea-beach, to a great crowd 
gathered there on a summer Sabbath day. They looked at 
each other ; first smiled, then laughed outright, and at 
length shouted with laughter. 



278 



SABBATH READINGS. 



It was my time then ; and I said, " You cannot help 
laughing at the quaint story, which is strictly true. But 
are you sure you would not have done as they did, and 
been as unbelieving as they ? Their unbelief cost them 
only a hungry stomach a little longer ; but what may your 
unbelief cost you ? God has sent his messengers to you 
for many years to offer 

PARDON FOR NOTHING ! 

peace for nothing ! salvation for nothing ! He has sent to 
you the most loving and tender offers that even an almighty 
God could frame ; and what have you replied ? Have you 
taken the trouble to reply at all ? Have you not turned 
away in utter scornful unbelief, like the woman ? or ran 
away in fear, like the child ? You are still without a hope 
on earth, or a hope in heaven, because you will not believe 
God's messengers when they offer you all that you need for 
time and eternity — for nothing. 

" Take warning by that disappointed crowd of hungry 
applicants. When they were convinced that the offer was 
in good faith, and would gladly have shared with their fel- 
lows, they were too late ! 

" Let it not be so with you ! Do not be in that awfully 
large crowd of disappointed ones, who will be obliged to be- 
lieve when belief will not help them ; whose knowledge, 
when it comes, will only increase the sorrow that they put 
off believing until it was too late!' 

As I looked earnestly upon that vast crowd, the laughter 
was entirely gone, and an air of uneasy conviction was 
plainly traceable upon many faces. 

"Will you not come to Jesus now?" I entreated. 




Copyrighted by M.A. Vroman, 1905, 

Come unto Me. 



HERRINGS FOR NOTHING. 279 

" He is waiting, pleading with you I Here is salvation, full, 
free, and eternal ; help, guidance, and blessing, — all for 
nothing ! without money and without price. " 



BREAD UPON THE MTERS 





H ! Jacob, now you see how all your hopes are 
gone. Here we are worn out with age — all 
our children removed from us by the hand of 
>■ death, and ere long we must be the inmates of 



the poorhouse. Where now is all the bread you have 
cast upon the waters ? " 

The old, white-haired man looked up at his wife. He 
was, indeed, bent down with years, and age sat tremblingly 
upon him. Jacob Manfred had been a comparatively 
wealthy man, and while fortune had smiled upon him he 
had ever been among the first to lend a listening ear and 
a helping hand to the call of distress. But now misfortune 
was his. Of his four boys not one was left. Sickness and 
failing strength found him with but little, and had left him 
penniless. An oppressive embargo upon the shipping 
business had been the first weight upon his head, and other 
misfortunes came in painful succession. Jacob and his 
wife were all alone, and gaunt poverty looked them coldly 
in the face. 
280 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 281 

" Don't repine, Susan/' said the old man. " True we 
are poor, but we are not yet forsaken." 

" Not forsaken, Jacob ? Who is there to help us 
now ? " 

Jacob Manfred raised his trembling finger toward 
heaven. 

" Ah ! Jacob, I know God is our friend, but we should 
have friends here. Look back and see how many you have 
befriended in days long past. You cast your bread upon 
the waters with a free hand, but it has not returned 
to you." 

" Hush, Susan, you forget what you say. To be sure 
I may have hoped that some kind hand of earth would lift 
me from the cold depths of utter want ; but I do not ex- 
pect it as a reward for anything I may have done. If I 
have helped the unfortunate in days, gone by, I have had 
my full reward in knowing that I have done my duty to my 
fellows. Oh ! of all the kind deeds I have done to my suf- 
fering fellows, I would not for gold have one of them 
blotted from my memory. Ah ! my fond wife, 'tis the 
memory of the good done in life that makes old age happy. 
Even now, I can hear again the warm thanks of those 
whom I have befriended, and again I can see their smiles." 

"Yes, Jacob," returned the wife, in a lower tone, "I 
know you have been good, and in your memory you can be 
happy ; but, alas ! there is a present upon which we must 
look — there is a reality upon which we must dwell. We 
must beg for food or starve ! " 

The old man started, and a deep mark of pain was 
drawn across his features. 



282 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"Beg!" he replied, with a quick shudder. "No, 
Susan, we are — M 

He hesitated, and a big tear rolled down his furrowed 

cheek. 

" We are what, Jacob ? " 

"We are going to the poorhouse ! " 

" O God ! I thought so I " fell from the poor wife's lips, 
as she covered her face with her hands. " I have thought 
so, and I have tried to school myself to the thought ; but 
my poor heart will not bear it ! " 

" Do not give up," softly urged the old man, laying his 
hand upon her arm. " It makes but little difference to us 
now. We have not long to remain on earth, and let us 
not wear out our last days in useless repinings. Come, 
come." 

" But when — when— shall we go ? " 
« Now — to-day/' 

" Then God have mercy on us ! 99 
" He will," murmured Jacob. 

That old couple sat for a while in silence. When they 
were aroused from their painful thoughts it was by the 
stopping of a wagon in front of the door. A man entered 
the room where they sat. He was the keeper of the poor- 
house. 

"Come, Mr. Manfred," he said, "the selectmen have 
managed to crowd you into the poorhouse. The wagon is 
at the door, and you can get ready as soon as possible." 

Jacob Manfred had not calculated the strength he 
should need for this ordeal. There was a coldness in the 
very tone and manner of the man who had come for him 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 



283 



that went like an ice-bolt to his heart, and with a deep 
groan he sank back in his seat. 

"Come, be in a hurry," impatiently urged the keeper. 

At that moment a heavy covered carriage drove up 
to the door. 

" Is this the house of Jacob Manfred ? " 

This question was asked by a man who entered from the 
carriage. He was a kind-looking man, about forty years 
of age. 

"That is my name," said Jacob. 

"Then they told me truly, uttered the new-comer. 
"Are you from the almshouse ? " he continued, turning to- 
ward the keeper. 

"Yes." 

"Then you may return. Jacob Manfred goes to no 
poorhouse while I live." 

The keeper gazed inquisitively into the face of the 
stranger, and left the house. 

" Do n't you remember me ? " exclaimed the new-comer, 
grasping the old man by the hand. 

" I can not call you to my memory now." 

" Do you remember Lucius Williams ? " 

"Williams?" repeated Jacob, starting up and gazing 
earnestly into the stranger's face. " Yes, Jacob Manfred 
— Lucius Williams, that little boy whom, thirty years ago, 
you saved from the house of correction ; that poor boy 
whom you kindly took from the bonds of the law, and 
placed on board your own vessels." 

"And are you — " 

u Yes — yes, I am the man you made. You found me 



284 



SABBATH READINGS. 



a rough stone from the hand of poverty and bad example. 
It was you who brushed off the evil, and who first led me 
to the sweet waters of moral life and happiness. I have 
profited by the lesson you gave me in early youth, and the 
warm spark which your kindness lighted up in my bosom 
has grown brighter and brighter ever since. With an afflu- 
ence for life I have settled down to enjoy the remainder of 
my days in peace and quietness. I heard of your losses 
and bereavements. Come, I have a home and a heart, and 
your presence will make them both warmer, brighter, and 
happier. Come, my more than father — and you my 
mother, come. You made my youth all bright, and I will 
not see your old age doomed to darkness. " 

Jacob Manfred tottered forward and sank upon the 
bosom of his preserver. He could not speak his thanks, 
for they were too heavy for words. When he looked up 
again he sought his wife. 

" Susan," he said, in a choking, trembling tone, "my 
bread has come back to me ! " 

" Forgive me, Jacob." 

" No, no, Susan. It is not I who must forgive — God 
holds us m his hand." 

"Ah!" murmured the wife, as she raised her stream- 
ing eyes to heaven, "I will never doubt him again. " 

All my griefs by Him are ordered 

Needful is each one for me, 
Every tear by Him is counted, 

One too much there cannot be ; 
And if when they fall so thickly. 

I can own His way is right, 
Then each bitter tear of anguish 

Precious is in Jesus' sight. 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 



Far too well my Saviour loved me 

To allow my life to be 
One long, calm, unbroken summer, 

One unruffled, stormless sea; 
He would have me fondly nestling 

Closer to His loving breast, 
He would have that world seem brighter 

Where alone is perfect rest. 

Though His wise and loving purpose, 

Once I could not clearly see, 
I believe with faith unshaken, 

All will work for good to me ; 
Therefoie when my way is gloomy, 

And my eyes with tears are dim, 
I will go to God, my Father, 

And will tell my griefs to Him. 



A Rift in the Cloud 




NDREW LEE came home at evening from 
the shop where he had worked all day, tired 
and out of spirits ; came home to his wife, who 
, was also tired, and dispirited. 



" A smiling wife, and a cheerful home — what a para- 
dise it would be ! " said Andrew to himself as he turned 
his eyes from the clouded face of Mrs. Lee, and sat down 
with knitted brow, and a moody aspect. 

Not a word was spoken by either. Mrs. Lee was get- 
ting supper, and she moved about with a weary step. 

"Come, ,, she said at last, with a side glance at her 
husband. 

There was invitation in the word only, none in the 
voice of Mrs. Lee. 

Andrew arose and went to the table. He was tempted 
to speak an angry word, but controlled himself, and kept 
silence. He could find no fault with the chop, nor the 
sweet home-made bread, and fresh butter. They would 
have cheered the inward man if there had only been a 
gleam of sunshine on the face of his wife. He noticed 
that she did not eat. " Are you not well Mary ? " The 
words were on his lips, but he did not utter them, for the 
face of his wife looked so repellant, that he feared an irri- 
tating reply. And so in moody silence, the twain sat to- 
gether until Andrew had finished his supper. As he 
286 



A RIFT IN THE CLOUD. 



287 



pushed his chair back, his wife arose, and commenced 
clearing off the table. 

"This is purgatory!" said Lee to himself, as he com- 
menced walking the floor of their little breakfast-room, 
with his hands clasped behind him, and his chin almost 
touching his breast. 

After removing all the dishes and taking them into the 
kitchen, Mrs. Lee spread a green cover on the table, and 
placing a fresh trimmed lamp thereon, went out and shut 
the door, leaving her husband alone with his unpleasant 
feelings. He took a long, deep breath as she did so, 
paused in his walk, stood still for some moments, and then 
drawing a paper from his pocket, sat down by the table, 
opened the sheet and commenced reading. Singularly 
enough the words upon which his eyes rested were, " Praise 
your wife." They rather tended to increase the disturb- 
ance of mind from which he was suffering. 

" I should like to find some occasion for praising mine." 
How quickly his thoughts expressed the ill-natured senti- 
ment. But his eyes were on the page before him, and he 
read on. 

" Praise your wife, man, for pity's sake, give her a little 
encouragement ; it wont hurt her." 

Andrew Lee raised his eyes from the paper and mut- 
tered, "Oh, yes. That's all very well. Praise is cheap 
enough. But praise her for what ? For being sullen, and 
making your home the most disagreeable place in the 
world? " His eyes fell again to the paper. 

" She has made your home comfortable, your hearth 
bright and shining, your food agreeable ; for pity's sake, tell 



288 



SABBATH READINGS. 



her you thank her, if nothing more. She do n't expect it ; 
it will make her eyes open wider than they have for ten 
years ; but it will do her good for all that, and you, too." 

It seemed to Andrew as if these sentences were 
written just for him, and just for the occasion. It was 
the complete answer to his question, " Praise her for 
what ?" and he felt it also as a rebuke. He read no 
farther, for thought came too busy, and in a new direction. 
Memory was convicting him of injustice toward his wife. 
She had always made his home as comfortable as hands 
could make it, and had he offered the light return of praise 
or commendation? Had he ever told her of the satisfac- 
tion he had known, or the comfort experienced? He was 
not able to recall the time or the occasion. As he thought 
thus, Mrs. Lee came in from the kitchen, and taking her 
work-basket from the closet, placed it on the table, and 
sitting down without speaking, began to sew. Mr. Lee 
glanced almost stealthily at the work in her hands, and 
saw it was the bosom of a shirt, w r hich she was stitching 
neatly. He knew it was for him that she was at work. 

" Praise your wife " The words were before the eyes 
of his mind, and he could not look away from them. But 
he was not ready for this yet. He still felt moody and un- 
forgiving. The expression on his wife's face he inter- 
preted to mean ill-nature, and with ill-nature he had no 
patience His eyes fell on the newspaper that spread out 
before him, and he read the sentence : — 

"A kind cheerful word, spoken in a gloomy home, is 
like the rift in the cloud that lets the sunshine through." 

Lee struggled with himself a while longer. His own 



A RIFT IN THE CLOUD. 



289 



ill-nature had to be conquered first ; his moody, accusing 
spirit had to be subdued. But he was coming right, and 
at last got right, as to will. Next came the question as to 
how he should begin. He thought of many things to say, 
yet feared to say them, lest his wife should meet his ad- 
vances with a cold rebuff. At last, leaning towards her, 
and taking hold of the linen bosom upon which she was at 
work, he said, in a voice carefully modulated with kind- 
ness : — ■ 

" You are doing the work very beautifully, Mary." 

Mrs. Lee made no reply. But her husband did not 
fail to observe that she lost, almost instantly, that rigid 
erectness with which she had been sitting, nor that the 
motion of her needle had ceased. " My shirts are better 
made, and whiter than those of any other man in our 
shop," said Lee, encouraged to go on. 

"Are they ? " Mrs. Lee's voice was low, and had in it a 
slight huskiness. She did not turn her face, but her hus- 
band saw that she leaned a little toward him. He had 
broken through the ice of reserve, and all was easy now. 
His hand was among the clouds, and a few feeble rays were 
already struggling through the rift it had made. 

"Yes, Mary/' he answered softly, "and I've heard it 
said more than once, what a good wife Andrew Lee must 
have." 

Mrs. Lee turned her face towards her husband. There 
was light it it, and light in her eye. But there was some- 
thing in the expression of the countenance that puzzled 
him a little. 

" Do you think so ? " she asked quite soberly, 
*9 



290 



SABBATH READINGS. 



"What a question ! " ejaculated Andrew Lee, starting 
up and going around to the side of the table where his 
wife was sitting. — " What a question, Mary ! " he repeated, 
as he stood before her. 

"Do you?" It was all she said. 

u Yes, darling," was the warmly-spoken answer, and he 
stooped down and kissed her. — "How strange that you 
should ask me such a question ! " 

" If you would only tell me so now and then, Andrew, 
it would do me good." And Mrs. Lee arose, and leaning 
against the manly breast of her husband, stood and w r ept. 

What a strong light broke in upon the mind of Andrew 
Lee. He had never given to his faithful wife even the 
small reward of praise for all the loving interest she had 
manifested daily, until doubt of his love had entered her 
soul, and made the light thick darkness. No wonder that 
her face grew clouded, nor that what he considered moodi- 
ness and ill-nature took possession of her spirit. 

" You are good and true, Mary. My own dear wife. 
I am pr.oud of you — I love you — and my first desire is for 
your happiness. Oh, if I could always see your face in 
sunshine, my home would be the dearest place on earth." 

" How precious to me are your words of love and 
praise, Andrew," said Mrs. Lee, smiling up through her 
tears into his face. " With them in my ears, my heart 
can never lie in shadow." 

How easy had been the work for Andrew Lee. He 
had swept his hand across the cloudy horizon of his home, 
and now the bright sunshine was streaming down, and 
flooding that home with joy and beauty. 



SUCCESS IS THE REWARD 




XF a person has ambition to engage in any enter- 
prise, he desires to succeed in his undertaking. 
It is generally right that he should prosper in 
all that is truly good or great ; and the fact that 
success is attainable by continued effort, we have all verified 
so many times in our pursuit of different objects, that we 
feel sure we can accomplish almost any purpose if we with 
patient perseverance bend all our energies in the right di- 
rection. If there is much to be gained, we may make 
apparently slow progress ; but if we apply ourselves closely, 
and do not let little things discourage us we shall eventually 
succeed. There are always plenty of little things in the 
way of the accomplishment of any good or great thing. 
These must be gotten out of the way ; and if, in our first 
attempt, we fail to win the prize, we must make another 
effort, varying the manner of our labor as circumstances 
shall suggest. 

It takes only a little at a time to accomplish a great 
deal if we work long enough. Perhaps most of you have 

291 



292 



SABBATH READINGS. 



read of the little girl whose mother was presented with a 
ton of coal by a charitable neighbor. She took her little 
fire-shovel, and began to take up the coal, a shovelful at a 
time, and carry it into the cellar. A friend, who was pass- 
ing by, said to the child, " Do you expect to get all that 
coal in with that little shovel ? " " Yes, sir," said the little 
girl, dipping her shovel again into the heap, "-I'll do it if I 
work long enough." She possessed the right spirit. 

The true spirit of success is not to look at obstacles, 
but to keep the eye on the many ways in which to surmount 
them. This may be illustrated by the incident of the little 
factory girl who had one of her fingers so badly mangled in 
the machinery that she was obliged to have it cut off. 
Looking at the wounded hand, she said, "That is my thim- 
ble finger ; but I must learn to sew with my left hand." 
She did not think of her loss, but of what she still possessed 
with which to work. 

We may prosper in the several schemes in which it is 
lawful for Christians to take part, but, if we fail to win the 
strife for eternal life, we shall have lived in vain. To make 
life a success, the glory of God must be the ruling motive 
to actuate us in all the walks of life. If we do really glorify 
him in our lives, success will surely crown our efforts — 
everlasting life will be our reward. 

Another instance of perseverance, against apparently 
insurmountable difficulties,* is given in an anecdote, not gen- 
erally known out of Russia, connected with a church spire 
of St. Petersburg, which place is remarkable for its spires. 
The loftiest is the church of St. Peter ar-i St. Paul. 

The spire, which is properly represented in an engrav- 



REWARD OF PERSEVERANCE. 293 



ing as fading away almost into a point in the sky, is in 
reality terminated by a globe of considerable dimensions, on 
which an angel stands supporting a large cross. This angel 
fell into disrepair ; and some suspicions were entertained 
that he designed visiting, uninvoked, the surface of the 
earth. The affair caused some uneasiness, and the govern- 
ment at length became greatly perplexed. To raise a 
scaffolding to such a height would cost more money than 
all the angels of this description were worth ; and in medi- 
tating fruitlessly on these circumstances, without being able 
to resolve how to act, a considerable time was suffered to 
elapse. 

Among the crowd of gazers below, who daily turned 
their eyes and their thoughts toward the angel, was a mujik 
called Telouchkine. This man was a roofer of houses (a 
slater, as he would be called in countries where slates are 
used), and his speculations by degrees assumed a more 
practical character than the idle wonders and conjectures of 
the rest of the crowd. The spire w r as entirely covered with 
sheets of gilded copper, and presented to the eye a surface 
as smooth as if it had been one mass of burnished gold. 
But Telouchkine knew that the sheets of copper were not 
even uniformly closed upon each other ; and, above all, that 
there were large nails used to fasten them, which projected 
from the side of the spire. 

Having meditated upon these circumstances till his 
mind was made up, the mujik went to the government and 
offered to repair the angel without scaffolding, and without 
assistance, on condition of being reasonably paid for the 
time expended in the labor. The offer was accepted ; for 
it was made in Russia, and by a Russian. 



294 



SABBATH READINGS. 



On the day fixed for the adventure, Telouchkine, pro- 
vided with nothing more than a coil of ropes, ascended the 
spire in the interior to the last window. Here he looked 
down at the concourse of people below, and up at the glit- 
tering "needle," as it is called, tapering far above his head. 
But his heart did not fail him, and stepping gravely out 
upon the window, he set about his task. 

He cut a portion of the cord in the form of two large 
stirrups, with a loop at each end. The upper loops he 
fastened upon two of the projecting nails above his head, 
and placed his feet in the other. Then digging the fingers 
of one hand into the interstices of the sheets of copper, he 
raised up one of the stirrups with the other hand, so as to 
make it-catch a nail higher up. The same operation he 
performed on behalf of the other leg, and so on alternately. 
And thus he climbed, nail by nail, step by step, and stirrup 
by stirrup, till his starting-point was undistinguished from 
the golden surface, and the spire had dwindled in his em- 
brace till he could clasp it all around. 

But Telouchkine was not dismayed. He was prepared 
for the difficulty, and the means by which he essayed to 
surmount it exhibited the same astonishing simplicity as the 
rest of the feat. 

Suspending himself in Tiis stirrups, he girded the needle 
with a cord, the ends of which he fastened around his waist ; 
and, so supported, he leaned gradually back, till the soles 
of his feet were planted against the spire. In this position, 
he threw, by a strong effort, a coil of cord over the ball ; 
and so coolly and accurately was the aim taken, that at the 
first trial it fell in the required direction, and he saw the 
end hang down on the opposite side. 



REWARD OF PERSEVERANCE. 295 



To draw himself into his original position, to fasten the 
cord firmly around the globe, and with the assistance of his 
auxiliary to climb to the summit, were now easy portions of 
his task ; and in a few moments more Telouchkine stood 
by the side of the angel, and listened to the shout that 
burst like sudden thunder from the concourse below, yet 
came to his ear only like a faint and hollow murmur. 

The cord, which he had an opportunity of fastening 
properly, enabled him to descend with comparative facility ; 
and the next day he carried up with him a ladder of ropes, 
by means of which he found it easy to effect the necessary 
repairs. 

This person must have put forth all the energies of his 
being to accomplish what he did. If we will strive as hard 
for the society of good angels as he did to reach the arti- 
ficial one, we shall be sure of their society and a place in 
the new earth. 



Richest Man in the Parish. 




HE richest man in our parish was the squire. 
He dwelt in a great house on the hill that over- 
looked, with its broad white face, the whole of 
the village below, with its clustering cottages 



and neat farmers' houses, and seemed to say proudly, as it 
looked down, " I have my eyes on you all, and intend to 
keep you in order." And in truth, a great many eyes it 
had, with its rows of high windows brightly reflecting the 
summer sun, from early morning till evening, when not un- 
frequently the last flush in the west left them glowing as 
with red fire. When strangers looked up at the great 
house, and inquired about it, the people of our parish used 
to tell them with some awe what treasures of grand furni- 
ture, and pictures, and choice specimens of art, the squire 
had collected in its many handsome rooms ; what was the 
worth of one picture alone, that he had refused thousands 
of pounds for, and the number of others that were beautiful 
enough, and valuable enough, to have adorned a palace. 

They were very proud to be able to say that so rich a 
man belonged to them, and lived among them, and to point 
out his crimson-lined and curtained pew at church, and the 
great tombstone that stood behind the pathway in the 
churchyard, recording the virtues of his ancestors, and 
testifying, as well as it could, to his own riches. 

I suppose the squire knew the homage that was paid to 



RICHEST MAN 



IN THE PARISH. 



297 



him, and liked it, and was proud in his turn, not of his 
neighbors, but of himself, and of the wealth he possessed. 
Whenever he rode abroad, he met with bows and smiles 
from rich and poor, everybody made way for him, every- 
body courted him. A man with so much money, and so 
much land, and such fine furniture, and pictures, and 
statues, and gardens, was not to be pushed in a comer and 
thought little of, and he knew it, as he went along the lanes 
and roads on his thorough-breds, and nodded to this man, 
and " good-morninged " that, with some degree of conde- 
scension. He knew that he was courted, and admired,. and 
deferred to, because of his riches, and was quite satisfied 
that it should be so. He did not wish to be thought ill- 
natured, so he gave, every year, a treat to his workpeople, 
and sent money, and coal, and blankets to the poor at 
Christmas, but he thought little more about them. They 
were poor, and he was rich; those two words, "poor" and 
"rich," indicated a great difference, and he was quite well 
pleased there should be such a difference. 

One summer morning, he was taking a ride through the 
woods that skirted one side of his estate. It was very hot, 
and in the lanes the sun and the flies teased both him 
and his horse, so when they turned in beneath the shadows 
of the oaks and beeches, it was a great relief to both. The 
squire gave Dandy the rein, and went along softly. He 
was soon thinking of other things than oaks and beeches. 
Perhaps the glitter of the sunshine here and there, as it lay 
upon a cluster of trembling leaves, or turned to richer red 
the tall heads of the willow herb beside his path, suggested 
the crimson draperies and ^"ded ornaments of his home, 



298 



SABBATH READINGS. 



for he was thinking of a sight he had seen there only the 
day before ; when there had been at the birthday of his 
eldest son a grand gathering of friends, and a feast such as 
a rich man makes to the rich, with dainties, and spices, and 
wines, served in gold, and silver, and rarest china, in the 
utmost profusion, and with the greatest display. He re- 
membered the hilarity of the guests, the healths drank, the 
speeches made, the compliments so freely given and taken ; 
and with some pride he remembered, too, it had been said, 
that within the memory of man, no one had given so grand 
a feast in the parish as he had done that day. 

Dandy's feet fell softly, and made little noise on the 
soft carpet of grass and last year's leaves, that covered and 
hid the stout roots of the oaks. It was no wonder, then, 
that presently the squire heard a gentle sound not far away. 
He became aware that some other human being than him- 
self was in the wood, and checking his horse, he listened a 
moment, as words, half prayer, half praise, met his ears. 
" Who can be praying here ? " he asked himself, and as the 
voice was near, he pushed aside a bough or two, and 
stretched his head, till he could see into a little shady hollow 
not far from the roadside, and discovered the strange wood- 
guest. 

Ah ! it was only an old man, a pauper, or next door to 
one, whom he had frequently seen before, breaking stones 
by the highway. 

But what was the deaf old man about? "Praying f" 
With his eyes shut, and his head uplifted, and his hat just 
taken off, held in his toil-swollen fingers, while before him 
was spread out his dinner — a piece of dry bread, part of a 



RICHEST MAN IN THE PARISH. 299 



small loaf, and a can of water by his side — bread and water, 
nothing else ; but the old man was thanking God for it, and 
was content. More than content. An expression of happy 
praise was on his uplifted face. Such an expression the 
squire had not seen on any face at his own loaded table for 
many years. And he was thanking God for bread and 
water, and was happy ! The old man was a sincere 
Christian. 

The richest man in the parish did not understand how, 
when the soul loves God, the least mercies from his hands 
are felt to be priceless blessings ; how bread and water, 
with a thankful heart, are sweeter to the taste than any 
food without it ; and he felt humiliated. What right had 
that old man to thank God for bread and water, when he 
never thanked him for all his great possessions ? 

The woods closed in on him again, he left the stone- 
breaker behind, and his face soon assumed its usual self- 
satisfied expression. But during that morning's ride, again 
and again returned to him the picture he had seen in the 
green hollow, of the man who had thanked God for bread 
and water, and the thought of his own great riches did not 
give him quite its usual satisfaction. Had those riches 
ever made him as happy as that old man looked to be over 
his poor meal ? He was obliged to confess to himself that 
they had not, and it was to him a sad confession. His 
pride was sorely touched, and his heart disquieted, and the 
farther he rode, the more he felt a sense of discomfort and 
discontent, that was strangely new to him. 

Presently the bright sun became overcast, great clouds 
gathered, and the woods looked dark and gloomy. Dandy 



300 



SABBATH READINGS. 



walked along untroubled by nervous fears and fancies, but 
an influence came over the squire for which he could not 
account. A strange sinking was at his heart, and an im- 
pression of coming calamity. Then a voice struck his 
inward ear, a voice not of this world, one of those voices 
God sends sometimes to be heard for our good and guid- 
ance, and the words it uttered were terrible to him. That 
voice spoke to him clearly and distinctly, " This night the 
richest man in the parish will die." Strange and fearful 
were these words. He did not look round to know whence 
they proceeded ; he knew it was an inward and spiritual 
voice that spoke, and he believed what it said. With a 
shudder he remembered the parable of the rich man in the 
Gospel, to whom had come the same terrible warning — 
"This night thy soul shall be required of thee." 

" What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, 
and lose his own soul ? and w 7 hat shall a man give in ex- 
change for his soul? " were words that haunted him now, 
and a cold perspiration covered him from head to foot. He 
felt that he had been an unwise merchant, who had ex- 
changed his soul for very little. Unable at length to bear 
his own reflections, he galloped home. 

There he arrived in a state of great agitation, and 
alarmed his w T ife and family by sending at once for a phy- 
sician. To all inquiries he gave the answer that he was 
about to die, and must prepare for it. In vain they tried 
to persuade him that his health was as good as ever, that 
he was only the subject of a nervous fancy. The physician 
arrived, and laughed at his fears, but he heeded neither 
ridicule nor entreaties. Death was not a thing to be 



Copyrighted by M. A. Vroman, 1905. 

Christ in the Home of Mary and Martha. 



RICHEST MAN IN THE PARISH. 301 



laughed or entreated away, and to death he was doomed. 
What did it signify what the world said about it ? He 
must make readv for it. His solicitor was called in, and 
his worldly affairs settled. Wife and children were all pro- 
vided for, houses and lands were portioned out to his 
beloved ones, then he had nothing to do but prepare him- 
self for the great change ; that, however, he found impossi- 
ble. In great perturbation of mind he awaited the coming 
of his great enemy, Death. When night drew on, his fears 
increased ; every time the great hall clock sounded the 
hour he shuddered, not knowing if he might ever hear it 
again. The physician and lawyer remained with him at his 
request, but they could not bring calm to his agitated 
mind. They could only listen to what he said, as to the 
ravings of a madman, for mad they judged him to be. 

Hour after hour went by, and the richest man in the 
parish, lying in his splendid bed, expecting Death every 
moment, found how poor he had become, and of how little 
real use all his vast possessions were to him now. Mid- 
night passed away, early morning came, light dawned upon 
the hills. A faint color came into the sky, and with it 
color once more stole back into the cheeks of the squire, 
and hope returned to his heart. Death had not arrived as 
he had feared ; he was still living. The night was passed, 
the morning was come, and the prophecy of the mysterious 
voice was not accomplished. His family gathered about 
him, and with smiles congratulated him, advising him to 
take his rest, now the danger was past. But how could he 
rest after such a night, such an upturning of all the cher- 
ished thoughts and aims of his life, such a revelation of the 



302 



SABBATH READINGS. 



poverty of riches ? He chose rather to walk abroad, and 
with thoughtful face and slow steps proceeded towards the 
village. There he heard that Death had indeed been a 
visitor in one house during the night, but instead of appear- 
ing in his own grand mansion, he had entered the poorest 
cottage in the place — the old stone-breaker had died during 
the night. With a still more thoughtful face he returned 
home, for his heart smote him. He remembered the old 
man's simple dinner; he saw again the uplifted face, on 
which God's sunshine rested in a double sense ; he heard 
again the words of his thankful prayer, and his own laugh 
of derision, and he was again humiliated, but this time to 
better purpose. 

His wife met him at the threshold of his house, with a 
smiling face, glad to see him once more, " clothed and in his 
right mind," for she, too, had feared for his reason. She 
accompanied him in, and then, when seated at his side, 
gently chided him for his last night's fears, and what she 
called "superstitious fancies." "I hope now," she added, 
"you are quite satisfied that there was no truth in what 
that mysterious voice told you. The night is past, and you 
are alive, and as well as ever." 

"True, my dear," he replied, "the night is past, and I 
am alive and well. But nevertheless the richest man in the 
parish has died. If you will take the trouble to inquire in 
the village, you will find it is so." 

" How is that ? " she asked, and as she spoke she looked 
round somewhat proudly, as though a rival to her grandeur 
had appeared. " Who can be richer here than you ? " 

u The man who can say to God, ' Whom have I in 



RICHEST MAN IN THE PARISH. 303 



heaven but thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire 
beside thee/ I cannot say that, for I have desired many 
things and persons besides God, and almost all things more 
than God. But there was a poor stone-breaker alive yes- 
terday, who in possessing God possessed all things. I call 
him poor after the manner of the world, but he was really 
rich — an heir of the kingdom of heaven. Last night I was 
shown his riches and my poverty. People will tell you he 
is dead, and I dare say that he did not leave a shilling to 
pay for his burial ; but he was 'the richest man in the 
parish.' " 




^^"^^^ PLEASE sir, take me over the crossing," said 
M ^ a little faint voice, as I was leisurely taking my 
W morning walk. 

^^^^ The strange request roused me from my 
reverie ; and looking imploringly in my face stood a thinly- 
clad, shivering little girl, who carried a small bundle, which 
she held in her hand with a singular tenacity. I gave a 
searching look into the child's face, while she imploringly 
repeated : — 

" Will you take me over the crossing quick, I'm in 
such a hurry." 

Tossing her in my arms I bounded over the muddy 
pathway; and just as I set down my little charge, the 
bundle slipped from her grasp, or rather its contents, leav- 
ing the empty paper in her hands, and an embroidered vest 
on the sidewalk. I picked up the vest, and in doing so 
unrolled the same, when lining, sewing-silk and padding 
were all disengaged, so that the nimble fingers of the poor 
child picked up, and brushed, and packed them together 
3°4 



OVER THE CROSSING. 



again with scrupulous care ; and tying them firmly, she 
gave me a sweet smile and bounded along. She would 
soon have passed from my sight had I not again called 
after her, and interrogated her why she made such haste. 

"Osir," she replied, " because my mother must have 
expected me an hour ago. I have been waiting for the 
young gentleman at the tailor's to decide which color he 
preferred, and then the tailor told me to stop while he cut 
it, and then he gave me such a beautiful pattern for my 
mother to embroider it by — but it is a sight of work to do 
it, sir, and I'm afraid she will set up all the long nights to 
sew, while I am sleeping, for the man said he must have it 
completed by next Thursday ; the young gentleman is to 
be married then, and will want it — and if it isn't done, 
maybe he would never give mother another stitch of work, 
and then what would become of us ? " 

And as the child hurried on I caught the same hurried 
footsteps, and followed on until we came to another cross- 
ing, when again came the beseeching tone:— 

" Will you take me over this crossing too, sir ? " 

It was done in a trice, and my interest in the child in- 
creased as her prattle continued : — 

u Mamma is to have a dollar for this work, and she 
means to buy me a new frock with part of the money, and 
then we shall have a great loaf of bread and a cup of milk, 
and mother will find time to eat with me — if there is any 
money left, I shall have a little open-work straw bonnet, 
and go to Sabbath-school with Susy Niles." 

And her little feet scarcely touched the walk, so light 
and fairy-like was her tread. 
20 



306 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" And does your mother work for one man all the time, 
little girl? " I inquired. 

" Oh, no, sir ; it is only now and then she gets such a 
nice job. Most of the time she has to sew for shops 
where she earns about twenty-five cents a day, and then 
she has hardly enough to pay her rent, and it isn't all the 
time we get enough to eat — but then mother always gives 
me the big slice when there is one big and one little one ; 
sometimes she cries and don't eat her's at all." 

A coach was passing — the child looked toward it and 
remarked: — 

" I know the lady in that pretty carriage ; she is the 
very one that is going to marry the young gentleman who 
is to wear this embroidered vest. She came to my home 
yesterday to get my mother to spangle the wreath round 
her white satin dress ; and it's just the same pattern that 
is to be put on this vest ; but she could not do it, 'cause 
her eyesight is so poor, and the spangles shined so." 

My tongue was silent. Could it be that these were to 
be the very articles that were to be worn at my Ellen's 
wedding ? For did I not pay for spangles yesterday, and 
what was it that vexed Ellen but because she could not 
find anybody to sew them on when she returned? She 
said Mrs. Taggard was almost blind. 

" My little girl," said I, " Is your name Taggard ? " 

" Yes, sir — 'Gusta Taggard, and we live down in Sulli- 
van court. Are you going home with me ? " 

It was a sensible conjecture ; for why else should I 
follow on ? 

" I am going to see you safely at the door, and to help 
you over all the crossings." 



OVER THE CROSSING. 



307 



" There's only one more, sir, and here it is ; we live 
down there at No. 3, on the third floor back." 

The child looked kindly, and as she sweetly bade me 
"good by, sir," I thrust my hand in my pocket and drew 
from it all the change it contained, which was a bright 
fifty cent piece, and placed it in her little palm. 'Gusta 
Taggard gave me her heartfelt thanks, and was soon out 
of my sight. 

An hour before, I had started from my home an in- 
valid. I had long deliberated whether an exposure to a 
chilly east wind would not injure rather than improve me. 
I was melancholy, too ; my only daughter was about to be 
married — there was confusion all over the house — the 
event was to be celebrated in fashionable style. Ellen's 
dress had cost what would have been a fortune to this poor 
seamstress, and I moralized. But I had forgotten myself ; 
the cough which had troubled me was no longer oppressive. 
I breathed quite freely, and yet I had walked more briskly 
than I had done for months, without so much fatigue as 
slow motion caused, so that when I returned, my wife 
rallied me upon looking ten years younger than when I 
left her in the morning ; and when I told her the specific 
lay in my walk with a little prattler, and the satisfaction of 
having left her happier than I found her, she took the oc- 
casion to press the purchase of a diamond brooch for Ellen, 
affirming if the gift of half a dollar made me so much 
happier, and that, too, to a little errand street girl, what 
would fifty times that amount confer upon one's only 
daughter, upon the eve before her marriage ? 

I gave the diamond brooch — I paid the most extrava- 



308 



SABBATH READINGS. 



gant bills to upholster's, dry goods establishments, confec- 
tioners and musicians, with which to enliven the great 
occasion, and yet I found more real satisfaction in provid- 
ing for the real wants of little 'Gusta Taggard and her 
mother than in all the splendid outlay of the wedding 
ceremony ; and it was not that it cost less which made the 
satisfaction, but it was that all extravagant outlays, in the 
very nature of things, are unsatisfactory, while ministering 
to the necessities of the truly needy and industrious con- 
fers its own reward. 

I had seen the glittering spangled dress — but it was 
made ready by some poor, emaciated sufferer, who toiled 
on in patient trust, and the embroidered vest as finished by 
the strained vision and aching head of another, who was 
emphatically one of " God's poor," upon whom blight or 
disgrace had not fallen, save by his appointment ; and the 
diamond brooch was borne off by admiring throngs but to 
be envied and coveted, while the simple coin bestowed 
upon my little street acquaintance had introduced me to a 
new species of enjoyment that never cloys in the retro- 
spective. I had learned to do good in small ways — my 
morning walks have now an object and aim. I pass by 
splendid palaces to hasten to Sullivan court, and thence on 
to yet other sources of enjoyment, so that my invalidism is 
fast leaving me by the new direction which is given to my 
thoughts. 

I am free to acknowledge that while I cheerfully pay 
for flannel robes, and silverware, and servants, and all the 
requirements which fashion imposes, I derive far less 
pleasure from surveying them, than in sitting beside some 



OVER THE CROSSING. 



309 



worthy recipient of charity, who tells me that "the little 
sum you gave me saved me from despair and self-des- 
truction, and enabled me to become helpful, so that no 
other assistance is now necessary." Such a confession 
fills a void which administering to a luxury never can ; and 
all the satisfaction originated in first helping a little child 
over the crossing. 



THE FENCE STORY 




MAN who prided himself on his morality, and 
expected to be saved by it, was constantly say- 
ing, " I am doing pretty well on the whole. I 
sometimes get mad and swear, but then I am 
strictly honest. I work on Sabbath when I am particularly 
busy, but I give a good deal to the poor, and I never was 
drunk in my life." This man hired a canny Scotchman to 
build a fence around his lot. He gave him very particular 
directions. In the evening, when the Scotchman came in 
from his work, the man said, "Well, Jock, is the fence 
built, and is it tight and strong ?" "I canna say that it is 
all tight and strong," replied Jock, " but it is a good average 
fence, anyhow. If some parts are a little weak, others are 
extra strong. I do n't know but I may have left a gap here 
and there, a yard wide, or so ; but then I made up for it 
by doubling the number of rails on each side of the gap. I 
dare say that the cattle will find it a very good fence, on 
the whole, and will like it ; though I canna just say that it's 
perfect in every part." " What I " cried the man, not see- 
310 




THE FENCE STORY. 



3ii 



ing the point. " Do you tell me that you have built a fence 
around my lot with weak places in it, and gaps in it ? Why, 
you might as well have built no fence at all. If there is 
one opening, or a place where an opening can be made, the 
cattle will be sure to find it, and will go through. Don't 
you know, man, that a fence must be perfect, or it is worth- 
less?" 

"I used to think so," said the dry Scotchman, "but I 
hear you talk so much about averaging matters with the 
Lord it seems to me we might try it with the cattle. If an 
average fence won't do for them, I am afraid an average 
character won't do for you in the day of judgment. When 
I was on shipboard, and a storm was driving us on the rocks, 
the captain cried : ' Let go the anchor ! ' but the mate 
shouted back : 6 There is a broken link in the cable/ Did 
the captain say when he heard that : i No matter, it's only 
one link. The rest of the chain is good. Ninety-nine of 
the hundred links are strong. Its average is high. It only 
lacks one per cent, of being perfect. Surely the anchor 
ought to respect so excellent a chain, and not break away 
from it ? ' No, indeed, he shouted, * Get another chain ! ' 

" He knew that a chain with one broken link was no 
chain at all. That he might as well throw the anchor over- 
board without any cable, as with a defective one. So with 
the anchor of our souls. If there is the least flaw in the 
cable, it is not safe to trust it. We had better throw it 
away and try to get a new one that we know is perfect." 



Put Yourself in My Place. 




CANNOT wait any longer. I must have my 
money, and if you cannot pay it I must fore- 
close the mortgage and sell the place," said 
Mr. Merton. 



"In that case," said Mr. Bishop, "it will of course be 
sold at a great sacrifice, and after the struggles I have 
made, my family will again be homeless. It is hard. I 
only wish you had to earn your money as I do mine ; you 
might then know something of the hard life of a poor man. 
If you could only in imagination, put yourself in my place, 
I think you would have a little mercy on me." 

"It is useless talking; I extended this one year, and I 
can do so no longer," replied Mr. Merton, as he turned to 
his desk and continued writing. 

The poor man rose from his seat, and walked sadly out 
of Mr, Merton' s office. His last hope was gone. He had 
just recovered from a long illness which had swallowed up 
the means with which he had intended to make the last 
payment on his house. True, Mr. Merton had waited one 
year when he failed to meet the demand owing to illness in 
his family, and he had felt very much obliged to him for so 
doing. This year he had been laid up for seven months, 
during which time he could earn nothing, and all his sa- 
vings were then needed for the support of his family. 
Again he failed, and now he would again be homeless, and 

3*2 



PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE. 313 



have to begin the world anew. Had heaven forsaken him, 
and given him over to the tender mercies of the wicked ? 

After he had left the office, Mr. Merton could not 
drive away from his thoughts the remarks to which the 
poor man gave utterance, " I wish you had to earn your 
money as I do mine." 

In the midst of a row of figures, " Put yourself in my 
place" intruded. 

Once after it had crossed his mind he laid down his 
pen, saying, " Well, I think I should find it rather hard. I 
have a mind to drop in there this afternoon and see how it 
fares with his family ; that man has aroused my curiosity." 

About five o'clock he put on a gray wig and some old 
cast-off clothes, and walked to the door. Mrs. Bishop, a 
pale, weary-looking woman opened it. The poor old man 
requested permission to enter and rest a while, saying he 
was very tired with his long journey, for he had walked 
many miles that day, 

Mrs. Bishop cordially invited him in, and gave him the 
best seat the room afforded ; she then began to make prep- 
arations for tea. 

The old gentleman w r atched her attentively. He saw 
there was no elasticity in her steps, no hope in her move- 
ments, and pity for her began to steal into his heart. 
When her husband entered, her features relaxed into a 
smile, and she forced a cheerfulness into her manner. 
The traveler noted it all, and he was forced to admire this 
woman who could assume a cheerfulness she did not feel, 
for her husband's sake. After the table was prepared (there 
was nothing on it but bread and butter and tea), they in- 



314 



SABBATH READINGS. 



vited the stranger to eat with them, saying, "We have not 
much to offer you, but a cup of tea will refresh you after 
your long journey." 

He accepted their hospitality, and, as they discussed 
the frugal meal, led them without seeming to do so, to talk 
of their affairs. 

" 1 bought this piece of land," said Mr. Bishop, "at a 
low price, and instead of waiting, as I ought to have done, 
until I saved the money to build, I thought I would borrow 
a few hundred dollars. The interest on the money would 
not be near so much as the rent I was paying, and I would 
save something by it. I did not think there would be any 
difficulty in paying back the money ; but the first year my 
wife and one of the children w r ere ill, and the expense left 
me without means to pay the debt. Mr. Merton agreed to 
wait another year if I would pay the interest, which I did. 
This year I was for seven months unable to work at my 
trade and earn anything, and, of course, when pay-day 
comes around — and that will be very soon — I shall be 
unable to meet the demand." 

"But," said the stranger, "will not Mr. Merton wait 
another year, if you make all the circumstances known 
to him?" 

"No, sir," replied Mr. Bishop ; " I saw him this morn- 
ing, and he said he must have the money and should be 
obliged to foreclose." 

"He must be very hard-hearted," remarked the 
traveler. 

" Not necessarily so," replied Mr. Bishop. " The fact 
is, these rich men know nothing of the struggles of the 



PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE. 315 



poor. They are men, just like the rest of mankind, and I 
am sure if they had but the faintest idea of what the poor 
have to pass through, their hearts and purses would open. 
You know it has passed into a proverb, ' When a poor man 
needs help he should apply to the poor/ The reason is 
obvious. Only the poor know the curse of poverty. 
They know how heavily it falls, crushing the heart of man, 
and (to use my favorite expression) they can at once put 
themselves in the unfortunate one's place and appreciate 
difficulties, and are therefore ready to render assistance as 
far as they are able. If Mr. Merton had the least idea 
what I and my family had to pass through, I think he 
would be willing to wait several years for his money rather 
than distress us." 

With what emotion the stranger listened may be im- 
agined. A new world was being opened to him. He was 
passing through an experience that had never been his be- 
fore. Shortly after the conclusion of the meal he arose to 
take his leave, thanking Mr. and Mrs. Bishop for their 
kind hospitality. They invited him to stay all night, 
telling him he was welcome to what they had. 

He thanked them, and said, " I will trespass on your 
kindness no longer. I think I can reach the next village 
before dark, and be so much further on my journey." 

Mr. Merton did not sleep much that night; he lay 
awake thinking. He had received a new revelation. The 
poor had always been associated in his mind with stupidity 
and ignorance, and the first poor family he had visited he 
had found far in advance, in intelligent sympathy and real 
politeness, of the exquisite and fashionable butterflies of 
the day. 



3i6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



The next day a boy called at the cottage, and left a 
package in a large blue envelope, addressed to Mr. Bishop. 

Mrs. Bishop was very much alarmed when she took it, 
for large blue envelopes were associated in her mind with 
law and lawyers, and she thought that it boded no good. 
She put it away until her husband came home from his 
work, when she handed it to him. 

He opened it in silence, read its contents, and said, 
fervently, " Thank Heaven ! " 

"What is it, John?" inquired his anxious wife. 

"Good news, wife," replied John; "such news as I 
never hoped for or even dreamed of." 

" What is it ? What is it ? Tell me quickly ! I want 
to hear, if it is anything good." 

" Mr. Merton has canceled the mortgage ; released me 
from the debt, both interest and principal ; and says any 
time I need further assistance, if I will let him know, I 
shall have it." 

"I am so glad! It puts new life into me," said the 
now happy wife. "But what can have come over Mr. 
Merton ?" 

" I do not know. It seems strange after the way he 
talked to me yesterday morning. I will go right over to 
Mr. Merton's, and tell him how happy he has made us." 

He found Mr. Merton in, and expressed his gratitude 
in glowing terms. 

" What could have induced you " he asked " to show us 
so much kindness ? " 

" I followed your suggestion," replied Mr. Merton, "and 
put myself in your place. I expect that it will surprise 



PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE. 



317 



you very much to learn that the strange traveler to whom 
you showed so much kindness yesterday was I." 

" Indeed ! " exclaimed Mr. Bishop, " can that be true ? 
How did you disguise yourself so well ? " 

" I was not so much disguised, after all ; but you could 
not very readily associate Mr. Merton, the lawyer, with a 
poor wayfaring man." 

"Well, it is a good joke," said Mr. Bishop; "good in 
more senses than one. It has terminated very pleasantly 
for me." 

" I was surprised," said Mr. Merton, "at the broad and 
liberal views you expressed of men and their actions gen- 
erally. I surposed I had greatly the advantage over you 
in means and education ; yet how cramped and narrow- 
minded have been my views beside yours ! That wife of 
yours is an estimable woman, and that boy of yours will be 
an honor to any man. I tell you, Bishop," said the lawyer, 
becoming animated, "you are rich — rich beyond what 
money could make ; you have treasures that gold will not 
buy. I tell you, you owe me no thanks. Somehow I 
seem to have lived years since yesterday morning. What 
I have learned at your house is worth more than you owe 
me, and I am your debtor yet. Hereafter I shall take as 
my motto, ' Put yourself in his place/ and try to regulate 
my actions by it." 

We cannot measure the need 

Of even the tiniest flower, 
Nor check the flow of the golden sands 

That run through a single hour. 
But the morning dews must fall, 

And the sun and summer rain 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Must do their part and perform it all, 
Over and over again. 

The path that has once been trod 

Is never so rough to the feet ; 
And the lesson we once have learned 

Is never so hard to repeat. 
Though sorrowful tears may fail, 

And the heart to its depths be driven 
With storm and tempest; we need them all 

To render us meet for heaven. 



THE INFIDEL CAPTAIN 





HE ship St. Thomas, Captain, Robert Williams, 
was bound from New York to Liverpool, in the 
1 month of June. Favored by a fresh westerly 
wind, she soon cleared the land, and on the first 



Sunday out was going along finely with all drawing sail set. 
The chief mate, Mr. Wm. Briggs, after the crew had 
breakfasted, and the watch had been set, asked the captain 
if he had any objections to calling the men aft to prayers. 

" No objection whatever, Mr. Briggs, provided you do 
the preaching and praying yourself; for you know well 
enough that I have but little faith in such exercises. " 

Captain Williams was between forty and fifty years of 
age, a plain, blunt seaman, who was more ambitious of be- 
ing considered an enterprising shipmaster than a Christian. 
His mate was not quite thirty, and was indebted to him for 
his promotion from before the mast to second mate, and 
then to that of chief mate ; they had sailed together many 
years, and each had boundless confidence in the other. 

3i9 



320 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Appreciating the motives of his mate, he always permitted 
him to have prayers on board when the state of the weather 
was favorable, although he took no interest in religious 
matters himself. 

Mr. Briggs ordered the watch to arrange some seats on 
the quarter-deck, while he went forward himself and invited 
the watch below to come aft, and listen to the reading of 
the Scriptures, and such other religious exercises as the 
occasion might suggest, remarking at the same time, that it 
was not his desire to force any man against his will. With- 
out a murmur the watch below, as well as that on deck, 
repaired to the quarter-deck, and were soon seated around 
the capstan. The captain took charge of the deck himself, 
that is, looked out for the proper steerage of the ship, and 
relieved the second mate, whose watch it was, to join the 
men at prayers. These arrangements completed, the chief 
mate placed a Bible on the capstan, read a chapter from the 
New Testament, made some remarks upon it, and then 
prayed ; after which he read a sermon, and closed with 
prayer. The whole exercise occupied about an hour, and 
seemed to produce a good effect upon the men, w r ho, during 
the rest of the day in their intercourse with one another, 
talked about religion. 

That afternoon, when it was the mate's watch on deck, 
Captain Williams entered into conversation with him as 
follows : — 

" I say, Briggs, what does all your preaching and pray- 
ing amount to in the long run ? I have managed to get 
along very well thus far without either, and if I were to die 
to-day, I could safely say that I never injured any man 



THE INFIDEL CAPTAIN. 



321 



knowingly, and have always endeavored to do my duty to 
my family and to all. What more can a man do, even if he 
has all the religion in the world ? M 

"Captain Williams,'' replied the mate, "this world, sir, 
is not our home ; we are here only for a few short years, 
and then we go to the place for which we have prepared 
ourselves." 

" Place ! " interrupted the captain, "place — what do you 
or I or any one else know about any other place than this 
world ? Place, indeed ! you do not suppose that I am silly 
enough to believe the Bible, with its strange fish-stories, and 
unaccountable yarns about miracles, etc.?" 

" Yet," replied the mate, "you believe Bowditch's Navi- 
gator, and rely upon its statements." 

" Of course I do, because I have tested their correct- 
ness by actual experience;' 

" And for the same reason I believe the Bible, and so 
will you, sir, when you come to Christ and learn of him the 
truth." 

" I have heard that statement before, Briggs. But how 
would you propose for me to come to Christ ? " 

" By retiring to your stateroom alone, sir, and throwing 
yourself upon your knees, and imploring him with your 
whole soul to enlighten you. Continue this process every 
moment you can spare from the ship's duty, and I will be 
answerable that you will not pray long in vain, if you pray 
sincerely. 

" But you must first convince me, Briggs, that the Bible 
is true before I make a fool of myself in my stateroom." 
"My dear captain,'' replied the mate, "I cannot con- 
si 



322 



SABBATH READINGS. 



vince you, that is the work of the Holy Spirit ; but I can, 
and often do pray for you. Yet let us recur to Bowditch's 
Navigator again, and see if we cannot make out a case from 
it in favor of the Bible. Both of us believe the Navigator, 
yet neither of us knows thoroughly the principles by which 
all its numerous tables have been calculated, many of which 
we use every day without question. If we make a bad 
landfall, or, at the end of a day discover that we have 
made a different course from that which we projected, we 
do not attribute the errors to Bowditch, but to our own 
miscalculation. It is just so with the humble inquirer after 
truth ; the Bible is his Navigator ; he believes it the foun- 
tain of living truth, endeavors to shape the course of his life 
by it ; and when he errs, he looks for the error in himself, 
not in the Bible." 

"■Still, Briggs," said the captain, "I don't believe the 
Bible. The fact is, I have never looked into it since I was 
a boy." 

" The greater your loss, captain ; but I have no doubt 
your mother believed it, and has often spoken to you about 
God, and Christ, and taught you to pray when you were a 
child. If you will take the trouble to visit Jim Wood's gin- 
palace, in Playhouse Square, when we reach Liverpool, 
and enter into conversation with the people there about the 
Bible, they will laugh at you, and sneeringly tell you it is a 
humbug ; in short, repeat your own arguments ; but if you 
will leave there and obtain admission into the best society, 
you will find that every person present will speak with rev- 
erence of the Bible. Now I know you love good company 
here, and that you dislike the low, vulgar conversation of 



THE INFIDEL CAPTAIN. 323 



the profane ; therefore, I should like to see you make some 
effort to prepare yourself for the society of the redeemed 
in heaven/' 

" What you have said about my mother, Briggs, is true 
as the needle~to the pole, God bless her ; I can't help say- 
ing so, for she was good to me ; and if there is a heaven 
she is sure of it." 

"And, of course, captain, you would like to join her 
there, when you have run down your reckoning here. You 
have either to join her, or such fellows as those who frequent 
places like Jim Wood's. Which like you the best — gam- 
blers, drunkards, and thieves, or your mother ? This is the 
simple question which you must decide for yourself." 

Here the ship's duty interrupted the conversation, but 
that night Captain Williams thought much of the teachings 
of his mother, her earnest prayers to God in his behalf, and 
the flimsy arguments with which he had so long deluded him- 
self about the Bible ; and the more he thought the more 
uneasy he became. He felt that he was a sinner in the 
sight of God, unworthy of the many favors he enjoyed, and 
during the whole of that passage, whenever an opportunity 
offered he engaged in earnest conversation with his mate. 
He was alarmed at the prospect of being forever separated 
from his mother, for he loved her dearly ; and this feeling 
soon gave birth to others of a more spiritual nature, and 
finally he was led to exclaim, " What shall I ^ do to be 
saved? " 




VERY heart has its own sorrow/ 1 There was 
a sad smile upon the lips that said it, and the 
eyes of the speaker were full of unshed tears, 
as if the heart rebelled a little, while a sigh 
stole up and was breathed out wearily. She sat in the full 
glow of the firelight, a patient, gentle woman, and on a 
low cushion at her feet was a young girl with her face 
hidden in her hands and sobbing passionately. 

t€ Don't think so much about it, Maggie; it is all for 
the best. It seems strange and dark now, but the time 
will come when you will see that it was all right." All the 
time she smoothed softly the golden curls that fell over the 
flushed forehead — the head was lifted at length, and a fair 
face looked up, stained and swollen with weeping. 

"I can't see how you can say this, Miss Levick. The 
time will never come when I shall see that it was all right." 

The young face was hidden again, and tears dropped 
like rain through the small, white fingers. By and by they 




3-4 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 325 



ceased flowing and the head was laid with a long, tired sob 
upon the lap where it had rested before. The hours went 
by in silence, while the firelight shone clear and steady in 
the room, sometimes bathing the watchers in its radiance, 
then flickering and going out like the hopes that they had 
cherished. 

M aggie Harlan had cause to weep. Six years before 
her mother died, just as the sensitive, high-spirited child 
was learning to feel her need of a tender counselor, whose 
love was even greater than the many faults that tried it 
sorely. Her eldest brother graduated, and with impaired 
health went to Cuba for the winter. He never returned, 
so Maggie had only her father to cling to. Mr. Harlan al- 
most idolized her, but he was an invalid, and felt that his 
child needed some influence besides his own in molding 
aright a character that already showed strong points, that 
might be shaped for good or evil. 

Bidding farewell to the old home they removed to a 
quiet country village, where there was a long-established 
female seminary, and here Maggie had been to school, ad- 
vised, aided, and benefited by Mrs. Champlan, the head of 
the school, and also the mother of daughters, causing her to 
take a warmer interest perhaps in the motherless girl, who 
not only proved an amiable pupil, but a brilliant scholar. 

Mrs. Champlan employed numerous teachers, and it is 
with one we find Maggie. Miss Levick had been there 
only six months. She was not one of those brilliant char- 
acters that dazzle at first acquaintance ; but she possessed 
a quiet, unobtrusive loveliness that won surely upon the 
affections of those who knew her. She had learned many 



326 



SABBATH READINGS. 



lessons in the school of life ; adversity and sorrow had 
been her teachers, and if they had made darkness in her 
heart, it was in this she had learned patience, and lip and 
eye told by their chastened beauty of a peace, storms could 

not disturb. 

Maggie Harlan knew nothing of her history ; she had 
come a stranger to Dalton. Well educated, a skilful 
musician, and speaking the languages with fluency, Mrs. 
Champlan was glad to employ her ; and to Maggie espe- 
cially had she proved a most devoted friend. 

Mr. Harlan's health had been slowly but surely failing 
since the death of his wife, but his friends were so accus- 
tomed to his pale face and wasted figure that they little 
realized how T near his feet were to the dark river. Hope- 
ful and cheerful, he seldom spoke of bodily infirmities. 

Three months ago he left home partly to attend to 
business in a distant city, and partly from the hope that 
travel might be of service to him. He only reached the 
place of his destination, was seized with severe hemorrhage, 
and died in a few hours. Only strangers w r ere with him, 
strangers ministered to his last wants, and strangers sent 
back to his home the news of the desolation that had 
come to it. 

It was a terrible blow to Maggie ; all the more terrible 
for falling so suddenly. She moved about in a kind of 
stupor for several days, till the funeral was over, and she 
was left alone with no other friend than Miss Levick. 

It was uncertain with regard to Mr. Harlan's property. 
He had always passed for a man of wealth, lived hand- 
somely, and enjoyed all that money could bring. But 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 327 



Maggie remembered that he had often spoken anxiously 
with regard to the future, and it was with some misgivings 
that she awaited the investigation of his affairs. It proved 
as she feared. There w r as very little property beyond 
what would pay outstanding debts, and a very heavy mort- 
gage was held upon the place wheie they lived. It was 
arranged that Maggie should go to Mrs. Champlan, gradu- 
ate with the close of the present term, and then become a 
teacher. 

This is the last night in the dear old home ; all day has 
Maggie borne up bravely — now utterly overcome. 

" It is a hard lesson to learn, darling, but some hearts 
have learned it, and when the agony was passed have 
blessed God for so teaching them. Sorrow sooner or later 
comes to all, and it works in the heart of each patience or 
despair. It all depends upon the way and manner in which 
they receive it." 

" Perhaps you have the power to choose," said Maggie, 
" but I have not. It is not so much for you to be patient ; 
it is your nature, and then you can't have so great cause 
for grief." 

How Miss Levick's heart went backward at the words 
of this weeping child, while she repeated to herself many 
a precious promise. 

Hour after hour they sat there ; the sun had gone 
down, and the purple twilight shrouded the outer world ; 
while Maggie's thoughts were busy with memories of the 
beautiful past, that was gone from her forever — shrinking 
from the future that looked so blank and cheerless, and 
keen agony as the present sorrow rose up in all its intea- 



3 28 



SABBATH READINGS. 



sity — a radiant cup of joy dashed from her lips just as she 
was beginning to taste its sweetness, and her heart was full 
of murmuring and despair. 

Miss Levick's words irritated instead of soothed her, 
and she could not help feeling there was not so much sym- 
pathy as she had a right to expect. 

The teacher felt all this, and her tears dropped silently 
as she thought over Maggie's words. 

"You have not so great cause for grief." There was 
a lesson in her past life that her heart prompted her to un- 
vail for the instruction of the young mourner, and though 
she shrank from the task she determined it should be done. 

"Maggie," she began in a low voice, "I have no home, 
Maggie. There are times when my path looks dreary to 
me. Once loving hands clasped mine, but one by one they 
have all lost their hold upon me and crumbled away into 
dust, while I am left to walk alone. I do not murmur at 
this, though there have been times when my heart has said, 
'The Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.' And if 
you will listen I will tell you how a heart more impulsive 
and passionate than yours was brought to rest quietly in 
the hands of One who doeth all things well. 

si I was born in Xew England, and amid its wild, pic- 
turesque scenery I grew to love nature most devoutly — not 
calm, serene, quiet ; I gloried in the war of elements, the 
play of the winds, the lightning, the thunder. When 
very young it was one of my pastimes to be out in the 
rain-storms ; there was something in this akin to my own 
passionate nature. I did not like anything tame and re- 
strained. My mother was a warm-hearted, loving woman. 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 329 



but so given to the world, so immersed in the whirl of 
society that she could not spend much time with her chil- 
dren. She saw that we were well fed, well dressed, well 
behaved, and her duty was done. I remember so well how 
prettily she looked — the dainty cap and collar, and when I 
used to put my arms about her neck and tell her how 
pretty she was, she would put me aside for fear I should 
spoil her toilet. 

u My father was a proud-spirited man, who dearly 
loved my wild, uncontrolled ways ; there was no danger of 
mussing him, and rare sport we used to have during his 
hours of leisure. I loved my father fondly, and people said 
that I had more influence over him than any other human 
being. Wealthy, and possessed of a social disposition, our 
house was a rendezvous for all. An Englishman by birth, 
my father was accustomed to seeing his sideboard well 
filled, and by degrees he grew to frequent it too often. 

" When I was about twelve years old my mother died, 
and after four years spent in school I returned to find a 
great change in my father. He would at times be gloomy 
and, morose for days together, keeping the whole house in 
a stcte of fear and discomfort by his sudden caprice and 
unreasonable exactions. This would pass away and he 
would appear as usual. These attacks grew to be more 
frequent, and at last came to be his habitual frame, and 
his frequent absence from home, which at first was a great 
sorrow to me, came to be looked for as a great relief. 

" Months passed on, and at last -I woke up to know 
what others had known for a long time, that my father was 
drinking deeply and losing constantly at play. O, Maggie, 



330 



SABBATH READINGS. 



I can never tell you the terrible suffering through which I 
passed. I left society and shut myself up at home, deter, 
mined, if it was possible, to save him. I had influence 
with him : but how could I appeal to him — how let him 
know that I knew the places he frequented and the com- 
pany he kept ! 

" Then change came. I grew indignant that he should 
bring all this misery upon me — the poverty and disgrace 
that I felt sure must follow such a course. Then in a 
moment of tenderness I would plead and expostulate with 
him, begging him with tears to leave his habits of dissipa- 
tion for my sake, for his own sake, for the sake of my 
dead mother ; while he would talk and weep, telling me 
that he could not break away ; there was something con- 
tinually drawing him to the gaming-house — he knew it was 
ruining him, but he must go, while the bitter, burning tears 
would roll over his face. Little by little every available 
article of property was disposed of and poverty stared us in 
the face. 

"At length my father's constitution failed under the 
wear of constant excitement, and he was forced to leave 
his customary resort and confine himself to the house, and 
not unfrequently to his bed. Remorse preyed upon him, 
and his sufferings at times were terrible. With all this I 
was not impatient, neither did I leave him, for it was a 
part of my being, the love I had for him ; and though at 
times a flood of bitterness possessed my soul — wretched, 
helpless, tortured with distress of mind and body, I sought 
to comfort and console him. 

" He lingered for two years a pitiable wreck of what he 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 331 



had once been, and died, I trust, repentant, leaving me 
alone and utterly destitute. 

M I had relatives in Baltimore, said to be wealthy, and 
for a few weeks I trusted in their kindness ; but there was 
no notice of my letters for a long time, and then one came 
couched so blandly, sympathizing with me in my loss, hop- 
ing I was well, but saying not a word of the future, or 
manifesting the least care or concern for what might be- 
come of me. Bitter were the tears, but it roused me. I 
determined to rely upon myself. My father had been 
a thorough scholar, and I was educated according to his 
system. There was nothing superficial, and the extent of 
my reading, both in English and the classics, was far more 
than the course usually prescribed for ladies. I also in- 
herited a talent for music which had been carefully culti- 
vated, so that I was well able to teach any branch that 
might be desired. Through the kindness of our family 
physician I obtained a situation in a seminary at some dis- 
tance from my home, as music teacher. My deep mourn- 
ing, together with my extreme youth, procured sympathy 
and kindness from many ; but I rejected all the overtures 
and led a life of perfect isolation, as much alone as if in a 
wilderness. I aimed to be kind and courteous in my de- 
meanor to all, but no one was admitted in the least degree 
into my confidence, and every emotion was carefully con- 
cealed from observation. Satisfied with my books and 
my music, learning language after language, not that I 
liked study so passionately, but it made me forget, I felt 
that I never could be again what I had been. My chief 
solace, when not studying, was at the instrument ; and 



332 



SABBATH READINGS. 



here with my pupils did I spend hour after hour, reveling 
not alone in the written music, but improvising according 
to my will. These pieces pleased me best, for here I 
could pour out my anguished feelings, the mournful, wither- 
ing wail of my despair. 

" How long this might have lasted I can not say ; but 
my heavenly Father, against whom my heart, without 
knowing it, rebelled so grievously, was pleased to deal 
mercifully with me, and sent me in my withering, deaden- 
ing grief a great and precious gift. You have often asked 
me about this miniature, Maggie," and she unclasped a 
bracelet from her arm. It was richly chased, and con- 
tained the likeness of a noble-looking man in the prime of 
manhood. 

"It was my husband, my noble, generous husband," 
and she pressed her lips to the dumb semblance. 

" Harris Levick was an inmate of the same boarding- 
house with me, but for a long time we were as perfect 
strangers. He pitied me at first ; and not repulsed by the 
manner in which his advances were met, he persevered 
until my heart gave way, and I learned first to regard him 
as a friend, a brother, and after that to love him with all 
the devotion of one whose love flowed in but one channel 
to one object. Once more I entered society because he 
wished it, and again sunshine rested in my heart and on 
my life. 

" Months passed ; we were married, and 1 left my 
labors at the seminar}'" to preside over a home simple in all 
its furnishing, for Harris was not wealthy, but oh, what 
a paradise it was to me ! We had books, flowers, and 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 333 



music. We had young hearts full of love for each other 
and hope for the future, and for one short year I forgot all 
the bitterness of the past ; and when love's signet ring was 
clasped with one sweet pearl I felt that God was good to 
me, and thought I was grateful for his blessings. Four 
years with rare delight swept over me, and when God 
touched my treasures I found that my heart was as proud 
and as bitter as ever. 

a Harris was a lawyer, with fine talent and a steadily in- 
creasing practice. For a young man he was said to excel, 
and all looked forward to a brilliant future for him. How 
many times we talked over the home w T e should possess in 
a few years, planning its surroundings and its adornments 
with almost satisfaction, hardly thinking that change might 
mar the programme; and still would Harris often close 
this dreaming by, i If God wills,' and seated by his side 
with no wish for anything beyond his love, I too could re- 
spond, 'If God wills.' Yes, it was easy to say, 'Thy will 
be done/ when that will brought me only what I craved. 

u We had been married four years. Willie, my pre- 
cious baby, was three years old, the joy of our home, the 
dearest, most affectionate little heart. There was a par- 
ticular case on the docket. My husband had need of all 
his skill and ability, besides it was necessary that he should 
meet personally with several connected with it, and on 
whom much depended. This rendered a journey to Chi- 
cago necessary. How I remember the morning he left 
me ; bright and beautiful as it was, I could not help the 
tears that would come. True, it was comparatively a short 
journey, still I could not keep down the sobs. 



3 34 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" ' I shall be gone only a week, darling, it will soon 
pass. Cheer up, here is Willie, bright as a sunbeam, and 
I will write if possible every day.' 

"Try as I would, I could not restrain myself. 

" « Why, Allie, had I thought you would have felt so 
bad I would not have gone.' 

" 'It is very foolish I know, Harris, but it seems to me 
that I shall never see you again/ and I wept convulsively. 

" 6 God bless and keep my treasures/ said Harris. 

" I kissed him passionately again and again, and then 
saw the door close after him. 

a It was two days before I heard from my husband ; he 
was well, business prospering, would be home in the time 
specified, and I was sorry that I had been so foolish ; the 
days were pleasant, and he needed change ; he might 
have made a pleasant excursion of it if I had not been so 
babyish; and I told Willie of all my weakness, and I 
promised I would never give way again. I knew my hus- 
band w r as never so happy as when at home ; he was ambi- 
tious in his profession, a stirring business man ; it would 
be necessary for him to go away often, and his leaving 
should never be clouded again. Thus I resolved. Willie, 
putting his dimpled arms about my neck would say to me, 
' Good, pretty ma, do n't cry any more when pa goes away/ 

" The week was nearly passed, Harris would close his 
business and leave in the morning. How my heart thrilled 
as at night I dressed myself carefully, and put the little 
suit his father liked best on Willie ! Then, seating myself 
and taking my baby on my lap, I rocked him and told him 
stories to while the time away till I heard the tramp of the 
iron horse. 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 335 



" Nine o'clock rung out from the little French clock on 
the mantel. A moment and the rumbling of the cars was 
heard, while the whistle screeched out its warning, and 
Willie bounded from my arms, ( Pa come, pa come ! ' 

"'Not yet, darling/ and I whiled him back to wait pa- 
tiently. It was far past his usual bedtime, but his eyes 
were never brighter. This was an unusual occasion, and 
he could sleep later in the morning. An hour passed, it 
seemed to me an age ; again and again I went to the door 
to listen. By and by there was a carriage at- : the gate, and 
footsteps coming up the graveled walk. * 

" ' There is more than one ; my husband must have 
brought company, that is what has kept him so long at the 
depot/ And I took Willie by the hand and opened the 
door. Four gentlemen stood on the steps, but my husband 
was not among them. I staggered back, and should have 
fallen but for the kindly care of one. 

" 6 Tell me all ; I can bear it ; my husband is dead/ 

"I did not need the words, I knew it. But when they 
told me of the accident, the terrible collision, the fearful 
death of so many, and my husband among the number, I 
felt the good slipping away from me. My grief was too 
bitter, my eyes were dry, and my brain like bursting. 
Why should God take one and not the other ? And I 
clasped my child to my heart ; and if I ever prayed ear- 
nestly it was that we might both go. 

" ' We thought it would be a comfort to you to see 
your husband ; the body will soon be here.' 

" And the humane man began making preparations to 
receive it. All the while I sat mechanically clasping my 



336 



SABBATH READINGS. 



child tightly and passionately, asking to be taken out of a 
life so wretched as mine would be without his presence. 

"The door opened, and a litter borne by four men was 
placed in the middle of the room. Gently they arranged 
everything, and with the delicacy of those who know what 
sorrow is, left me alone with my dead. 

"There lay my husband dressed just as when he left 
Chicago — his face calm and serene, while the blood still 
oozed from a wound in the temple, and his breast was 
mangled and bleeding ; still I could not make it real, while 
Willie begged so hard for 'pa to wake up/ Poor child! he 
could not realize his misery ; he did not know what it was 
to be fatherless. 

u Days passed. They put my dead from me. How 
was I to live without him ? Alas ! had I read the lesson 
rightly I should perhaps have been spared another. 
Hardly three months had passed when scarlet fever broke 
out in the village, and Willie sickened and died. 

" My cup was full ; the waves of bitterness rolled 
over me ; I was ready to curse God who had dealt so 
severely with me ; and no words can describe the darkness, 
like the shadow of death, that settled over my soul. I 
neither wept nor prayed. I thought of God only as an 
enemy whose hand was relentlessly against me, and every 
power of my body and mind seemed locked up by a stony 
despair. I followed my baby to the grave, but it was as 
one who neither saw nor heard. I went back to my lonely 
home and brooded silently over my hard fate. 

"The autumn days hung their beauty all around me, 
but I had no eye to see, no ear to catch the joyfulness 




Copyrighted by M. A. Vroman, 1905. 

He Is Xot Here; He Is Risen. 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 337 



floating around me. Christmas came, a bright, beautiful 
winter morning, and I stood by the window watching 
passers-by. There were no friends, no Christmas cheer 
for me. Why was my fate so pitiless ? As I stood by the 
window, my heart making bitter responses to every peal of 
the bell, our clergyman passed, a kind, benevolent-hearted 
man ; he bowed kindly, and then entered. 

" ' Are you not going out this morning, Mrs. Levick ? ' 

" 'No sir. I have nothing to rejoice over, unless it be 
that every drop in my cup has turned to bitterness.' 

" He did not answer me at once, but taking both my 
hands, and looking earnestly into my face said, * Almost 
every house was smitten ; we lost two of our darlings.' 

" He passed on to the church, and presently I heard 
the swelling notes of the organ, and the voice of the 
people. Every note came directly to my ear, for the door 
was being opened and closed continually. 

"'Ah!' thought I, 'they can sing, they can observe 
Christmas ; they have lost only children, I have lost all.' 

"When the service was over I watched to see the 
people go back to their homes. My heart smote me not a 
little as I saw that not less than one-half the congregation 
wore the badge of bereavement. There was a widow with 
her fatherless children ; feeble age tottered on missing the 
strong arm of manhood on which it had been accustomed 
to lean ; little children, motherless, walked with demure 
steps by their father's side; and there a lonely couple 
thinking of the little ones that used to follow them with 
dancing steps. 

'"What a wretched, suffering world it is I 1 and I 
zz 



338 SABBATH READINGS. 



bowed my head upon my hands and wept, the first tears 
I had shed since they took my baby from my arms. Just 
then baby's old nurse came in— the dear old motherly heart 
— the sight of my grief touched her. 

<( ' He knoweth what is best ; each heart has its own 
sorrow/ and she held me in her arms just as she used to 
hold Willie. Then she talked to me a long time of God's 
goodness and love ; that he knew and pitied our anguish ; 
that this life was not all, there was a future, and that it 
would not be long till we should stand on the farther 
shore. 

" Somehow her simple words went directly to my 
heart ; and although I wept till I was nearly exhausted it 
did me good, and that night I slept like a child. 

" I awoke next morning with a strange feeling of weak- 
ness in every limb, and a sense of bewilderment and con- 
fusion that I tried in vain to shake off. Past events, even 
my recent bereavement, would rise up for an instant before 
me, and then float away into dim distance. I was prostrate 
with high fever, through which I was tenderly watched by 
Mrs. Bryan, aided by friends whose approach I did not 
now repel. 

" After long delirium and unconsciousness I awoke at 
last to reason, and for several days bore reluctantly with 
what I fancied was Mrs. Bryan's needless caution in keep- 
ing the room so dark. At length I could bear it no longer, 
I wanted to see the sunlight once more, and insisted that 
the window should be opened. Poor Mrs. Bryan put me 
off till to-morrow, then the curtains were rolled up, and the 
blinds thrown open ; I knew it, for I felt the pure air on 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 339 



my cheek. But, alas ! I could dimly see the sun shining 
through the rose tree, and the white spire of the village 
church ; all was dim and faint as before. 

" It was not that my room was darkened ; the light 
had gone out of my eyes, I was almost blind ; I should 
never see the sunshine nor the flowers again ; all my life I 
must be a helpless, dependent creature, a burden to myself 
and to others. 

" I remembered then my ingratitude, the hardness of 
my heart, because he had taken my idols, and I felt the 
Lord had justly smitten me. Day after day I could see 
less of the flickering sunlight, and at length it was gone 
to me entirely. 

" Oh how beautiful now seemed to me the broad green 
earth ! How I longed to look upon the sweet flowers ! 
Once I would not look at them because they reminded me 
of those his hands had so often gathered for me. Now I 
longed but to look at them, while the song of the birds 
filled me with pleasant music. For hours did I sit and 
listen to the robins as they crooned out their love songs in 
the old elm tree, when suddenly a thought struck me : 
1 These winged creatures warble and bask in the sunlight, 
answering the purpose of their existence, while I, a rational 
creature, am gloomy and sad of heart, and full of complain- 
ings. I am of more consequence in His sight than a bird/ 
These reflections brought tears, and I found myself offer- 
ing up a prayer that I too might become as happy in the 
purpose of my life. This prayer was the earnest wish of 
my heart, and it was not long till I found the Saviour, and, 
leaning upon him, felt happier in my blindness than when I 
walked alone with my wicked heart. 



340 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" My chastening was severe, but the Lord raised up 
friends in my necessity. After three months of total blind- 
ness, the result of long-continued nervous excitement, my 
sight was gradually restored. In the meantime I had 
made the acquaintance of a family from the South, who 
pressed me so kindly to return with them to their own 
home that I could not refuse. 

" This home was in the suburbs of New Orleans, where 
the mild air and sweet perfume of orange groves did much 
toward establishing health. Alas, that blight, war and 
desolation should sweep over such a home ! How I felt I 
hardly know, nor in what way I found myself in camp and 
hospital. The lengthened watch that knew no variation in 
the long wards, the terrible suffering of the brave men 
who had periled their all for the Union, and I ministering 
to their wants, aiding them to bear suffering patiently, bind- 
ing up their wounds, above all, pointing them to Him 
whose precious love had brought him to do more for them 
than they had done for others — sad as it was, it was no 
doubt the very thing for me ; I forgot my own griefs, per- 
sonal sorrow was unthought of. I felt thankful for the 
benefits I had received, leaned more and more upon his 
protecting care, and looked forward, not blindly and with 
mute despair, but with hope of a joyful reunion on the 
other shore. For me I can say, 6 It is good that I have 
been afflicted/ I feel a firm confidence in the goodness 
and mercy that will not leave me nor forsake me." 

The hands of the clock were slowly creeping past the 
midnight hour ; the leaping flames were gone ; in their 
place were only embers glowing redly under the white 



EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 341 



ashes, even as hope will live and glow in a strong heat 
under all the smoldering ashes of disappointment. 

Maggie rose from her seat and folded her arms about 
her teacher's neck. 

" I pray God to teach me the sweet lesson you have 
learned. I am so sorry that I said ' you had not so much 
cause for grief as I.' But why do they call you Miss 
Levick?" 

" Your question is very natural. It was simply a mis- 
take on the part of Mrs. Champlan, and I had not energy 
enough at the time to correct it. After that I felt it was 
just as well, I should escape questioning." 

They went forth in a few hours, each to her appointed 
lot, and the angels looked down upon them both. 



Evening Prayer. 



OUR Father." 
The mother's voice was low and tender, and 
solemn. 
" Our Father." 
On two sweet voices the tones were borne upward. 
It was the innocence of reverent children that gave them 
utterance. 

"Who art in heaven." 

" Who art in heaven," repeated the children, one with 
her eyes bent meekly down, and the other looking upward, 
as if she would penetrate the heavens into which her heart 
was aspiring. 

" Hallowed be thy name." 

Lower fell the voice of the little ones. In a gentle 
murmur they said, — 

" Hallowed be thy name." 
"Thy kingdom come." 

And the burden of the prayer was still taken by the 

children — 

" Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," filled 
the chamber. 

And the mother continued — 
" Give us this day our daily bread." 
Our daily bread," lingered a moment on the air, as the 
mother's voice was hushed into silence. 
342 



EVENING PRAYER. 



343 



"And forgive us our debts as we also forgive our 
debtors." 

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from 
evil." 

" For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the 
glory, forever." 
"Amen." 

All these holy words were said piously and fervently by 
the little ones, as they knelt with clasped hands beside their 
mother. Then as their thoughts, uplifted on the wings of 
prayer to their heavenly Father, came back again and 
rested on their earthly parents, a warmer love came gushing 
from their hearts. 

Pure kisses — tender kisses — the fond "good-night." 
What a sweet agitation pervaded all their feelings. Then 
two dear heads were placed side by side on the snowy pil- 
lows, the mother's last good-night kiss given, and the 
shadowy curtains drawn. 

What a pulseless stillness reigns without the chamber. 
Inwardly, the parents' ears are bent. They have given 
those innocent ones into the keeping of God's angels, and 
they can almost hear the rustle of their garments as they 
gather around their sleeping babes. A sigh, deep and 
tremulous, breaks on the air. Quickly the mother turns to 
the father of her children, with a look of earnest inquiry 
upon her countenance. And he answers thus her silent 
questions : — 

" Far back through many years have my thoughts been 
wandering. At my mother's knee thus said I nightly my 
childhood's evening prayer. It was that best and holiest 



344 



SABBATH READINGS. 



of all prayers, 'Our Father/ that she taught me. Child- 
hood and my mother passed away. I went forth as a man 
into the world, strong, confident, and self-seeking. Once 
I came into great temptation. Had I fallen in that temp- 
tation, I should have fallen never to rise again. I was 
about yielding. All the barriers I could oppose to it in the 
in-rushing flood, seemed just ready to give way, when, as I 
sat in my room one evening, there came from an adjoining 
chamber, now first occupied for many weeks, the murmur 
of low voices. I listened. At first no articulate sound was 
heard, and yet something in the tones stirred my heart with 
new and strong emotions. At length there came to my 
ears, in the earnest, loving voice of a woman, the words, — 
Deliver us from evil/ 
" For an instant, it seemed to me as if that voice were 
that of my mother. Back with a sudden bound, through 
all the intervening years, went my thoughts, and a child 
again I was kneeling at my mother's knee. Humbly and 
reverently I said over the words of the holy prayer she had 
taught me, heart and eye uplifted to heaven. The hour 
and power of darkness had passed. I was no longer stand- 
ing in slippery places, with a flood of water ready to sweep 
me to destruction ; but my feet were on a rock. My pious 
mother's care had saved her son. In the holy words she 
had taught me in childhood was a living power to resist evil 
through all my after life. Ah ! that unknown mother, as 
she taught her child to repeat this evening prayer, how little 
dreamed she that the holy words were to reach a stranger's 
ears, and save him through the memory of his own child- 
hood and his own mother. And yet it was so. What a 



EVENING PRAYER. 



345 



power there is in God's word, as it flows into and rests in 
the minds of innocent childhood." 

Tears were in the eyes of the wife and mother, as she 
lifted her face and gazed with a subdued tenderness, upon 
the countenance of her husband. Her heart was too full 
for utterance. A little while she thus gazed, and then with 
a trembling joy, laid her hand upon his bosom. Angels 
were in the chamber where their dear ones slept, and they 
felt their holy presence. 



Hallowed, ay, hallowed ! not alone in prayer, 

But in our daily thoughts and daily speech ; 
At altar and at hearth-stone— everywhere 

That temple-priests or home-apostles preach. 
Oh, not by words alone, but by our deeds, 

And by our faith, and hope, and spirit's flame, 
And by the nature of our private creeds, 

We hallow best, and glorify thy Name. 
Nature doth hallow it. In every star, 

And every flower, and leaf, and leaping wave, 
She praises Thee, who, from Thy realm afar, 

Such stores of beauty to this fair earth gave. 
But these alone should not Thy love proclaim — 

Our hearts, our souls respond — "All hallowed be Thy Name" 



THE HAPPY-NEW YEAR 



i m 




_^ *APPY New Year, papa ! " The sitting-room 

doors were thrown open, and a sweet little girl 
B came bounding in.. Her cheeks were all aglow. 
s & Smiles played around her cherry lips, and her 

eyes were dancing with sunny light. 

M Happy New Year, my sweet one!" responded Mr. 
Edgar, as he clasped the child fondly to his heart. u May 
all your New Years be happy," he added, in a low voice, 
and with a prayer in his heart. 

Little Ellen laid her head in confiding love against her 
father's breast, and he bent down his manly cheek until it 
rested on the soft masses of her golden hair. To her it 
was a happy New Year's morning, and the words that fell 
from her lips were heart-echoes. But it was not so with 
Mr. Edgar. The cares of this world, and the deceitfulness 
of riches, had, like evil weeds, found a rank growth in his 
heart, while good seeds of truth, which in earlier life had 
sent forth their fresh, green blades, that lifted themselves 
346 



THE HAPPY NEW YEAR. 



347 



in the bright, invigorating sunshine, gave now but feeble 
promise for the harvest-time. 

No ; Mr. Edgar was not happy. There was a pressure 
on his feelings ; an unsatisfied reaching out into the future; 
a vague consciousness of approaching evil. Very tenderly 
he loved his little one ; and as she lay nestling against him, 
he could not help thinking of the time when he was a child, 
and when the New Years were happy ones. Ellen loved 
no place so well as her father's arms. When they were 
folded tightly around her, she had nothing more to desire; 
so she lay very still and silent, while the thoughts of her 
father wandered away from the loving child on his bosom to 
his own unsatisfied state of mind. 

" For years," he said within himself, "I have been in 
earnest pursuit of the means of happiness, yet happiness 
itself seems every year to be still farther in the distance. 
There is something wrong. I cannot be in the true path. 
My days are busy and restless, my nights burdened with 
schemes that rarely do more than cheat my glowing fancy. 
What is the meaning of this ? " 

And Mr. Edgar fell into a deep reverie, from which he 
was aroused by the voice of his wife, as she laid her hand 
upon his shoulder. 

"A happy New Year, and many joyful returns!" she 
said, in loving tones, as she pressed her lips to his forehead. 

He did not answer. The tenderly spoken good wishes 
of his wife fell very gratefully, like refreshing dew, upon 
his heart ; but he was distinctly conscious of not being 
happy. 

So far as worldly condition was concerned, Mr. Edgar 



348 



SABBATH READINGS. 



had no cause of mental depression. His business was pros- 
perous under a careful management, and every year he saw 
himself better off by a few thousand dollars. Always, 
however, it must be told, the number fell short of his ex- 
pectations. 

"There is something wrong." Mr. Edgar's thoughts 
were all running in one direction. A startling truth seemed 
suddenly to be revealed to him, and he felt inclined to look 
at it in all possible aspects. "Why am I not happy?" 
That was urging the question home ; but the answer was 
not given. 

After breakfast, Mr. Edgar left home and went to his 
store. As he passed along the street, he saw at a window 
the face of a most lovely child. Her beauty, that had in it 
something of heavenly innocence, impressed him so deeply 
that he turned to gain a second look, and in doing so his 
eves saw on the door of the dwelling the name of Abraham 
James. There was an instant revulsion of feeling; and for 
the first time that morning Mr. Edgar remembered one of 
the causes of his uncomfortable state of mind. Abraham 
James was an unfortunate debtor who had failed to meet 
his obligations, among which were two notes of five hun- 
dred dollars each, given to Mr. Edgar. These had been 
placed by the latter in the hands of his lawyer, with direc- 
tions to sue them out, and obtain the most that could be 
realized. Only the day before — the last day of the year — 
he had learned that there were two judgments that would 
take precedence of his, and sweep off a share of the debtor's 
property. The fact had chafed him considerably, causing 
him to indulge in harsh language toward his debtor. This 



THE HAPPY NEW YEAR. 



language was not just, as he knew* in his heart. But the 
loss of his money fretted him, and filled him with unkind 
feelings toward the individual who had occasioned the loss. 

Xo wonder that Mr. Edgar was unhappy. As he con- 
tinued on his way, the angry impulse that quickened the 
blood in his veins subsided, and through the mist that ob- 
scured his mental vision, he saw the bright face of a child, 
the child of his unfortunate debtor. His own precious one 
was no lovelier, no purer ; nor had her lips uttered on that 
morning in sweeter tones, the words, "A happy New Year, 
papa ! " 

How the thought thrilled him. 

With his face bowed, and his eyes upon the ground, 
Mr. Edgar walked on. He could not sweep aside the 
image of that child at the window, nor keep back his 
thoughts from entering the dwelling where her presence 
might be the only sunbeam that gave light in its gloomy 
chambers. 

When Mr. Edgar arrived at his store, his feelings 
tow r ard Mr. James were very different from what they were 
on the day previous. All anger, all resentment, were gone, 
and kindness had taken their place. What if Mr. James 
did owe him a thousand dollars ? What if he should lose 
the whole amount of this indebtedness ? Was the condition 
of the former so much better than his own, that he would 
care to change places with him ? The very idea caused a 
shudder to run along his nerves. 

" Poor man ! M he said to himself, pityingly. "What a 
terrible thing to be thus involved in debt, thus crippled, 
thus driven to the wall. It would kill me I Men are very 



350 



SABBATH READINGS. 



cruel to one another, and I am cruel with the rest. What 
are a thousand dollars to me, or a thousand dollars to my 
well-to-do neighbor, compared with the ruin of a helpless 
fellow-man ? James asked time. In two years he was sure 
he could recover himself, and make all good. But, with a 
heartlessness that causes my cheek to burn as I think of it, 
I answered, ' The first loss is always the best loss. I will 
get what I can, and let the balance go/ The look he then 
gave me has troubled my conscience ever since. No won- 
der it is not a happy New Year." 

Scarcely had Mr. Edgar passed the dwelling of his un- 
fortunate debtor, when the latter, who had been walking 
the floor of his parlor in a troubled state of mind, came to 
the window and stood by his child, who was as dear to him 
as a child could be to the heart of a father. <( Happy New 
Year, papa !" It was the third time since morning dawned 
that he had received this greeting from the same sweet lips. 
Mr. James tried to give back the same glad greeting, but 
the words seemed to choke him, and failed in the utterance. 
As the two stood by the window, the wife and mother came 
up, and leaning against her husband, looked forth with a 
sad heart. Oh, no ! it was not a happy New Year's morn- 
ing to them. Long before the dawn of another year, they 
must go forth from their pleasant home ; and both then- 
hearts shrunk back in fear from the dark beyond. 

"Good morning, dear," said Mr. James, soon afterward, 
as, with hat and coat and muffler on, he stood ready to go 
forth to meet the business trials of the day. His voice 
was depressed, and his countenance sad. 

The business assigned to that day was a painful one for 



THE HAPPY NEW YEAR. 



3Si 



Mr. James. The only creditor who had commenced a suit 
was Mr. Edgar, he having declined entering into any 
arrangement with the other creditors, coldly saying that, in 
his opinion, "the first loss was always the best loss," and 
that extensions were, in most cases, equivalent to the aban- 
donment of a claim. He was willing to take what the law 
would give him. Pursuant to this view, a suit had been 
brought, and the debtor, to anticipate the result, confessed 
judgment to two of his largest creditors, who honorably 
bound themselves to see that a pro rata division was made 
of all his effects. 

The business of this New Year's Day was to draw up 
as complete a statement as possible of his affairs, and Mr. 
James went about the work with a heavy heart. He had 
been engaged in this way for over an hour, when one of his 
clerks came to the desk where he was writing, and handed 
him a letter, which a lad had just brought in. He broke 
the seal with a nervous foreboding of trouble ; for, of late, 
# these letters by the hands of private messengers had been 
frequent, and rarely of an agreeable character. From the 
envelope, as he commenced withdrawing the letter, there 
dropped upon the desk a narrow piece of paper, folded like 
a bill. He took it up with almost reluctant fingers, and 
slowly pressed back the ends so as to read its face and 
comprehend its import. Twice his eyes went over the brief 
lines, before he was clear as to their meaning. They were 
as follows : — 

" Received, January i, 18 — , of Abraham James, One 
Thousand Dollars, in full of all demands. 

" Hiram Edgar." 



352 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Hurriedly, now, did Mr. James unfold the letter that 
accompanied this receipt. Its language moved him deeply. 
66 Abraham James, Esq., 

" Dear Sir : I was not in a right state of mind when I 
gave directions to have a suit brought against you. I have 
seen clearer since, and wish to act from a better principle. 
My own affairs are prosperous. During the year which 
has just closed, my profits have been better than in any 
year since I started business. Your affairs, on the con- 
trary, are unprosperous. Heavy losses, instead of fair 
profits, are the result of a year's tireless efforts, and you 
find yourself near the bottom of the wheel, while I am 
sweeping upward. As I think of this, and of my unfeeling 
conduct toward you in your misfortunes, I am mortified as 
well as pained. There is an element in my character which 
ought not to be there. I am self-convicted of cruelty. 
Accept, my dear sir, in the enclosed receipt, the best repa- 
ration in my power to make. In giving up this claim, I do 
not abandon an item that goes to complete the sum of my 
happiness. Not a single comfort will be abridged. It will 
not shrink the dimensions of my house, nor withdraw from 
me or my family any portion of food or raiment. Accept, 
then, the New Year's gift I offer, and believe that I have a 
purer delight in giving than you in receiving. My best 
wishes are with you for the future, and if, in anything, I 
can aid you in your arrangements with creditors, do not fail 
to command my sendee. 

" Most truly yours, 

" Hiram Edgar." 

For the space of nearly five minutes Mr. James sat very 



THE HAPPY NEW YEAR. 



353 



still, the letter of Mr. Edgar before him. Then he folded 
it up, with the receipt inside, and placed it in his pocket. 
Then he put away the inventories he had been examining, 
and tore up several pieces of paper, on which were sundry 
calculations. And then he put on his warm overcoat and 
buttoned it to the chin. 

" Edward," said Mr. James, as he walked down the 
store, "I shall not return this afternoon. It is Xew Year's 
Day, and you can close up at two o'clock." 

It cost Mr. Edgar a struggle to write the receipt in full. 
A thousand dollars was a large sum of money to give away 
by a single stroke of the pen. Love of gain and selfishness 
pleaded strongly for the last farthing ; but the better reason 
and better feelings of the man prevailed, and the good deed 
was done. How light his heart felt, how suddenly the 
clouds were lifted from his sky, and the strange pressure 
from his feelings ! It was to him a new experience. 

On the evening that closed the day, the first evening of 
the New Year, Mr. Edgar sat with his wife and children in 
his elegant home, happier by far than he was in the morn- 
ing, and almost wondering at the change in his state of 
mind. Little Ellen was in his arms, and as he looked upon 
her cherub face, he thought of a face as beautiful, seen by 
him in the morning, at the window of his unfortunate 
debtor. The face of an angel it had proved to him ; for it 
prompted the good deed from which had sprung a double 
blessing. While he sat thus, he heard the door-bell ring. 
In a few minutes the waiter handed in a letter. He broke 
the seal, and read : — 

" My Dear Sir : This morning my dear little Aggy, the 

83 



354 



SABBATH READINGS. 



light of our home, greeted me with a joyous 1 Happy New 
Year.' I took her in my arms and kissed her, keeping my 
face close to hers, that she might not see the sadness of 
mine. Ah, sir ! the day broke in gloom. The words of 
my child found no echo in my heart. I could have wept 
over her, if the strength of manhood had not risen above 
the weakness of nature. But all is changed now. A few 
minutes ago the 1 Happy New Year' was flowing to me 
from the sweet lips of my child, and the words went thrill- 
ing in gladness to my heart. May the day close as happily 
for you and yours, as it is closing for me and mine. God 
bless you ! 

"Abraham James." 
Mr. Edgar read this letter twice, and then handed it, 

without a word, to his wife. 

The story, to which she listened eagerly, was briefly 
told. When Mr. Edgar had finished, his wife arose, and, 
with tears of love and sympathy in her eyes, crossed over 
to where he was sitting, and throwing her arms around his 
neck, said, " My good, my generous husband ! I feel very 
proud of you this night. That was a noble deed ; and I 
thank you for it in the name of our common humanity." 

Never had words from the lips of his wife sounded so 
pleasant to the ears of Mr. Edgar. Never had he known 
so happy a New Year's Day as the one which had just 
closed. And though it saw him poorer than he believed 
himself in the morning, by nearly a thousand dollars, he 
was richer in feeling — richer in the heart's un wasting 
possessions — than he had ever been in his life. 



Copyrighted by M. A. Yroman, 1905. 

God Be Merciful to Me a Sinner. 




XN one of the boxes sent to us by the Sanitary 
Commission,' ' writes a Christian worker in a 
southern army hospital, "was a patch-work 
quilt of unusual softness and lightness. When 
we opened it, w r e found a note pinned to it. It read as 
follows : — 

" ' I have made this Scripture quilt for one of the hos- 
pital beds, for I thought that while it would be a comfort 
to the poor body, it might speak a word of good to the pre- 
cious soul ; the words are so beautiful and blessed, and full 
of balm and healing ! May it be blessed to the dear boys 
in the army, among whom I have a son.' 

u It was made of square blocks of calico and white 
cotton intermingled, and on every white block was written 
a verse from the Bible or a couplet from one of our best 
hymns. On the central block, in letters so large as to 
catch the careless eye, was that faithful saying, in which is 
our hope and strength — ' Christ Jesus came into the world 
to save sinners.' And below it the prayer of all prayers, 

355 



356 



SABBATH 



READINGS. 



' God be merciful to me a sinner.' The head border, which 
would be nearest to the sick man's eye, and oftenest read, 
had the sweetest texts of promise, and love, and comfort. 
Among them I read, 1 God so loved the world, that he gave 
his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him 
should not perish.' 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and 
are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest; 'Ho, even' one 
that thirsteth, come ye to the waters ! ? 'I sought the v 
Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears," 
1 Oh,' we said, 1 Oh that all our beds had such quilts ! God 
will surely speak through these texts to the sick and 
wounded men ! They will read them when the}- will read 
nothing else. Who knows how much good they will do ? 1 
"It was not long before a man sick with pneumonia was 
brought in. and we put our new quilt on his bed. He 
noticed nothing at first, he was too sick ; but when he grew 
better, I saw him intent on the texts. 1 Handy to have 'em 
here ! ' he said, pointing to them as I stood near him. 'You 
know how to value them, then," I said. ' I do,' he answered, 
with heartiness. After that I saw many studying the quilt 
— almost all who lay beneath it. One poor fellow, who had 
fssed in pain and feverishness for several days, caught 
sight of the words, 'And I will give you rest." He beckoned 
to me, and said, ' Rest ! where can I get it ? Rest for body 
and mind, both ! I am half mad — sick, as you see, but 
sicker — as no one can see. Tell me how to get res: ! ' 
'Did you never hear of the way? — never hear of Jesus?' 
'Tell me again.' I told him the story of the cross. 'Died 
for my sins ?' he asked. 'Yes, yours. He saw you in 
your sins and pitied you, loved you, died to save you from 



THE SCRIPTURE QUILT. 



357 



sin and give you rest ; to make you happy.' 'I have never 
been happy — never. I have been too wicked. And he 
really died for me ? I never felt it before. It never seemed 
to me a real thing.' C I hope you will come to feel it the 
most real thing. Have you seen the lines — 

" ' None but Jesus, none but Jesus, 
Can do helpless sinners good ' ? 

" 'It's true. I know it is none but Jesus ! I've tried 
everything else.' 

" 1 I'll go to Jesus, though my sins 
Have like a mountain risen,' 

I repeated. 'I can't go. I feel that I can't do anything. 
I am here a very wretched man ; and that is all.' ' Just 
leave yourself to God, then, — 

11 ' Here, Lord, I give myself away, 
'Tis all that I can do.' 

That's all you have to do.' 'Is that verse here?' I 
showed it to him on the quilt. 'I'll keep it before me. 
Oh for rest ! a little rest ! ' he groaned again. Not long 
after he found it, — found peace in believing, and left his 
hospital bed, happier than he had ever been before. 

''An Irishman lay under the Scripture quilt. One day 
when nearly well, he was looking at it. 'Is that radin?' 
he asked, putting his finger on the text. 'Yes.' 'Sure, 
and what does it say ? ' I read, ' And God shall wipe away 
all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, 
neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more 
pain.' ' Ye might rade that,' he said, pointing to another 
text. ' I love them that love me, and they that seek me 
early shall find me.' 'It is the Lord who says this,' I 



358 



SABBATH READINGS. 



added after the text. ' Sure, it's good to a lonesome pareson 
to hear what you rade/ 'So it is. There is no book like 
the Bible in dark and trying hours/ 

" At last came the boy who had the best right to the 
comfort of our Scripture quilt, — the son, of whom the good 
woman who made it spoke in the note attached, It was a 
strange circumstance that he should have come to lie be- 
neath it, but so it was. He had lain there nearly senseless 
for more than a week, when I saw him kiss the patch-work. 
I thought he might be wandering, or if not, had found a 
text of hope or consolation that seemed to suit his need, 
and marked with my eye the place he had kissed, to see 
what it was. It was no text, but a calico block, the pattern 
a little crimson leaf on a dark ground. He kept looking at 
it, with tears in his eyes, and I was almost sure his mind 
was wandering. Nay, he was never more in his right mind, 
and his thoughts were at home with his mother. A bit of 
the gown he had so often seen her wear had carried him 
back to her. He kissed it again. I approached him. He 
looked up, and smiled through his tears. 

" ' Do you know where this quilt came from ? ' he asked. 
'Some good woman sent it to us through the Sanitary 
Commission/ 'You do n't know her name, nor where it 
came from ? ' ' No, but I saved a note that was pinned to 
the quilt/ 'Would you be willing to let me see it some 
time when it is convenient V 'Oh, yes. I'll get it now/ 
I got it for him ; his hand trembled, and his lips grew white 
as he opened it and saw the writing. ' Please read it to me 
quite slowly/ he said, returning it. I read it. ' It is from 
my mother ; shall you keep it ? 9 ' Yes/ I answered, ' I 



THE SCRIPTURE QUILT. 



value it very much, and also the quilt.' He put his hands 
over his eyes. I thought he wished to be alone, and left 
him. As I stood by his bed the next day, I was wondering 
if he had not seen his mother's texts, as well as the bit of 
her gown. He had, and pointed one out to me. It was, 
1 Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and 
am no more worthy to be called thy son.' 'I am no more 
worthy/ he whispered. I put my finger on the next white 
block, and read aloud, ' When he was yet a great way off, 
his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell 
on his neck, and kissed him/ As I looked up, I saw there 
were tears upon his cheeks, and his lips were tremulous. 
He covered his eyes, and I left him. A few days after, 
when he had grown much stronger, he held up to me the 
text I had shown him. 'I was a great way off,' he said, 
'but He has met me and had compassion on me.' 'You 
feel the Saviour's love?* 'It fills me with peace. What 
love ! What a Saviour ! ' ' Shall I not write to your 
mother and tell her that her son, who was dead, is alive 
again ; was lost, and is found ? ' ' Will it not be too much 
trouble?' 'Oh, no, a pleasure instead.' I wrote the 
blessed tidings, making the mother's heart rejoice. And 
now our Scripture quilt was even dearer and more sacred 
than before." 




'HO was that quiet-appearing girl that came into 
I church quite late, last Sabbath?" I asked a 
' friend of mine who was an active member in the 
church which I had recently joined. 



" Did she wear a striped shawl and a dark dress ? 99 in- 
quired my friend. " If so, it was Annie Linton, a gir! who 
is a seamstress in Brown's shop." 

u I did not notice her clothes in particular," I answered, 
" but her face attracted me ; I should know it among a 
thousand faces. How could you pass by a stranger so in- 
differently, Mrs. Greyson ? I expected that you would ask 
her to remain to Sabbath-school, and go into your Bible- 
class, but you did not once look at her/' 

" I did not once think of it, and if I had, probably she 
would not have accepted the invitation, as she is a stranger 
in town, and undoubtedly will not remain here long," my 
friend replied quickly, in the way of defense. 

I said nothing more, for Mrs. G. was really an excellent 
360 



SPEAK TO STRANGERS. 361 



Christian woman, with this one fault, — carelessness, — which 
sometimes caused her to make grave mistakes. 

But I could not help thinking about the stranger girl. 
Her large dark eyes and finely formed face revealed more 
than ordinary intelligence, and in some way I gained the 
impression that she was deeply impressed with religious 
conviction, if not a Christian already. It seemed to me 
that she left the church very reluctantly, and was half wait- 
ing an invitation to the Bible-class. 

The next Sabbath she came again and occupied the 
same seat, — just in front of my own. She bowed her head 
very reverently during prayer, and once during the sermon 
I saw her lip quiver with emotion, and a tear came into her 
eye. The services closed, and the stranger lingered as be- 
fore. My friend, good Mrs. G., again forgot to speak to 
the girl. She passed out of the church slowly, and did not 
come again. I thought she must have left town, as I had 
not seen her for several days ; but one Sabbath, as I at- 
tended another church, I saw her again. She seemed a 
little more at ease, I thought, and there was a quiet smile 
on her face. After the services were concluded, I saw 
many a pleasant smile given to the stranger girl,, and I un- 
derstood the secret of the changed look upon her face. I 
made some inquiries, and learned that she had joined this 
church, and was earnest and active in all its work. I also 
learned that she had made a profession of religion just be- 
fore coming to our village, and had an unusually clear 
experience. How much the indifference of our own people 
had to do with her finding a home in another church, I 
know not. 



362 



5AJ5BATH READINGS. 



Several years have passed since this occurred, but I 
have never forgotten it. Many a stranger's hand I have 
clasped as I thought of Annie Linton s sweet face. I was 
young in Christian experience then, and that lesson was a 
profitable one to me. 

Speak to the stranger, Christian friend, with the assur- 
ance that no evil will grow out of it. It is better some- 
times to step over the rules of etiquette than to chill some 
warm stream of God's new-given love by coldness and in- 
difference. 



THE MAJOR'S CIGAR 




FTER a separation of ten years I met my old 

friend, Major , at a railway station. If he 

had not spoken first I should not have recog- 
nized my Virginia comrade of '64. It was not 
merely the disguise of a silken hat and shaven cheek, but 
— as I told him after we had chatted a little about each 
other's ups and downs since the war — I was sure this was 
the first time I ever saw him away from the table without 
a cigar in his mouth. 

"Haven't smoked for five years," was his reply. "I'm 
down on tobacco as thoroughly as you ever were." 
" Good ! Tell me all about it." 

We locked arms, and walked leisurely up and down the 
platform. Dropping the dialogue, this was, in substance, 
his story : — 

" It wasn't a sudden conversion. I never was quite so 
easy in my mind over it as I pretended to be. I intended 
to taper off when I got home from the army. And I did, 
smoked less in three weeks than I used to in one. But one 




364 



SABBATH READINGS. 



summer I went off on some business for our company, 
which kept me up in the mountains, among the charcoal- 
burners, three days longer than I expected. I got out of 
cigars, and could n't obtain any for love or money. In forty- 
eight hours I was more uncomfortable and unstrung than I 
ever was before in all my life. I actually borrowed an old 
Irishman's filthy clay pipe, and tried to smoke it. I thought 
of that miserable summer we spent crawling about the 
trenches in Virginia, and I wished I was there again, with a 
cigar in my mouth. Then I began to realize what a shame- 
ful bondage I was in to a mere self-indulgence. I, a man 
who secretly prided himself on his self-control, nerve, and 
manliness, — who never flinched at hard fare or rough 
weather, — a downright slave to a bad habit ; unnerved and 
actually unfit for business for lack of a cigar. It made me 
angry at myself ; I despised myself for my pusillanimity. 

" Going into the matter a little further, I found that the 
money I had spent for cigars in a dozen years would have 
paid for my house and furnished it. I had smoked away 
more money than I had laid out for our library, our periodi- 
cals, and our intellectual culture generally. Cigars had 
cost me nearly twice as much as I had given to church 
work, missions, and charity. My conscience rose up at the 
record. I knew I could not plead any equivalent for the 
outlay ; it had not fed me ; it had not strengthened me ; it 
had simply drugged me. Every cigar had made the next 
cigar a little more necessary to my comfort. To use the 
mildest word, it had been a useless expenditure. 

My detention in the mountains was calculated to open 
my eyes to my domestic shortcomings, and I saw, as I 



THE MAJOR'S CIGAR. 



365 



never saw before, how selfishly unsocial tobacco had made 
me at home. I smoked before I was married, and my wife 
never entered any protest against my cigars afterward. But 
our first baby was a nervous child, and the doctor told me 
it would not do for it to breathe tobacco smoke. So I got 
in the way of shutting myself up in the library of evenings, 
and after meals, to enjoy my cigars. As I look at it now, 
nothing is more absurd than to call smoking a social habit. 
It's a poor pretense of sociability, where a man is simply 
intent on his own enjoyment. My wife owns now, that my 
tobacco-tainted breath and tobacco-saturated clothing were 
always more or less a trial to her. The satisfaction it has 
given her to be rid of a tobacco atmosphere, and the thought 
of my contemptibly selfish indifference to her comfort all 
those years, have humbled me, I tell you. And I wouldn't 
exchange my own daily satisfaction nowadays in being a 
cleaner man — inside and outside — for the delight that any- 
body gets out of his cigars. 

" I did n't need to go outside of my own doors to find 
reasons enough for giving up the habit ; but I think I found 
still stronger ones, after all, when I went away from home. 
The more I thought about the harm tobacco does in the 
community at large, the more sure I felt that it was time 
for me to stop giving it the moral support of my example. 
I know I smoked too much, and that my nervous system is 
the worse for it ; and I think the people who are likely to 
be hurt the most by it are just the ones who are most likely 
to smoke excessively. And then, I've noticed that the 
medical men who stand up for tobacco, are always men who 
use it, and are liable to the suspicion of straining a point in 
justification of their own self-indulgence. 



366 SABBATH READINGS. 

" On one point, though, I believe the authorities agree. 
No one denies that it is a damaging indulgence for boys. 
It means a good deal when smoking is forbidden to the 
pupils in the polytechnic schools in Paris, and the n ilitary 
schools in Germany, purely on hygienic grounds. The 
governments of these smoking nations are not likely to be 
notional on that matter. But the use of tobacco by our 
American boys and men is excessive and alarming. We 
ought to save our rising generation for better work than 
they can do if tobacco saps the strength of their growing 
years, and makes the descent easier, as no doubt it often 
does, to worse vices. I don't know how to forgive myself 
for the temptation I set before my Sabbath-school class of 
bright boys, year after year, by my smoking habits. 

" It is n't in the family, either, that the selfishness of 
the habit is most apparent. I don't believe, other things 
being equal, there is any other class of men who show T such 
a disregard in public for other people's comfort as tobacco 
users do. A man would be considered a rowdy or a boor 
who should wilfully spatter mud on the clothing of a lady 
as she passed him on the sidewalk. But a lady to whom 
tobacco fumes are more offensive than mud, can hardly 
walk the streets in these days, but that men who call them- 
selves gentlemen — and who are gentlemen in most other 
respects — blow their cigar smoke into her face at almost 
every step. Smokers drive non-smokers out of the gentle- 
men's cabins on the ferry-boats, and the gentlemen's wait 
ing-rooms in railway stations, monopolizing these rooms as 
coolly as if only they had any rights in them. I can't ex- 
plain such phenomena except on the theory that tobacco 



THE MAJOR'S CIGAR. 



367 



befogs the moral sense, and makes men specially selfish." 

The Major's train came in just then, and as he took my 
hand to say good-by, its smoking-car drew his parting shot : 
" See there ! Did .you ever reflect how the tobacco habit 
levies its taxes on everybody? The railway company fur- 
nishes an extra seat to every smoker, which, in the nature 
of the case, must be paid for by an extra charge on the 
tickets of all the passengers. What a stir it would raise, if 
the legislature should attempt to furnish luxuries to any 
special class, at public cost, in this way. How we'd vote 
them down ! I vote against this thing by throwing away 
my cigar 1 " 



THE LITTLE SISTERS 



addressed had not gone to frolic away the ten minutes, not 
even left her seat, but sat absorbed in what seemed a fruit- 
less attempt to make herself mistress of an example in long 
division. 

Her face and neck crimsoned at the remark of her 
teacher, but looking up, she seemed somewhat reassured 
by the kind glance that met her, and answered, "No, 
ma'am, I was not, but sister Nellie was." 

" I remember there was a little girl who called herself 
Nellie Gray, came in yesterday, but I did not know she was 
your sister. But why did you not come ? You seem to 
like to study very much." 

"It was not because I didn't want to," was the earnest 
answer, and then she paused and the deep flush again 





OU were not here yesterday," said the gentle 
teacher of the little village school, as she placed 
* her hand kindly on the curly head of one of her 
pupils. It was recess time, but the little girl 



368 



THE LITTLE SISTERS. 



369 



tinged her fair brow ; "but," she continued after a moment 
of painful embarrassment, " mother cannot spare both of us 
conveniently, and so we are going to take turns. I'm go- 
ing to school one day, and sister the next, and to-night I'm 
to teach Nellie all I have learned to-day, and to-morrow 
night she will teach me all that she learns while here. It's 
the only way w r e can think of getting along, and we want to 
study very much, so as to sometime keep school ourselves, 
and take care of mother, because she has to work very hard 
to take care of us." 

With genuine delicacy Miss M forbore to question 

the child further, but sat down beside her, and in a moment 
explained the rule over which she was puzzling her young 
brain, so that the hard example was easily finished. 

" You had better go out and take the air a few mo- 
ments, you have studied very hard to-day," said the teacher, 
as the little girl put aside the slate. 

" I had rather not — I might tear my dress — I will stand 
by the window and watch the rest." 

There was such a peculiar tone in the voice of her pupil 
as she said, "I might tear my dress," that the teacher was 
led instinctively to notice it. It was nothing but a nine- 
penny print of a deep hue, but it was neatly made and had 
never been washed. And while looking at it, she remem- 
bered that during the whole previous fortnight Mary Gray 
had attended school regularly, she had never seen her wear 
but that one dress. " She is a thoughtful little girl," said 
she to herself, " and does not want to make her mother any 
trouble. I wish I had more such scholars." 

The next morning Mary was absent, but her sister 00 
24 



370 



SABBATH READINGS. 



cupied her seat. There was something so interesting in 
the two little sisters, the one eleven, and the other eighteen 
months younger, agreeing to attend school by turns, that 

Miss M could not forbear observing them very closely. 

They were pretty faced children, of delicate forms, the 
elder with dark eyes and chestnut curls, the other with orbs 
like the sky of June, her white neck veiled by a wealth of 
golden ringlets. She observed in both, the same close at- 
tention to their studies, and as Mary tarried within during 
the play time, so did Nellie * and upon speaking to her as 
she had to her sister, she received the same answer, " I 
might tear my dress/' 

The reply caused Miss M to notice the garb of her 

sister. She saw at once that it was of the same piece as 
Mary's, and upon scrutinizing it very closely, she became 
certain that it was the same dress. It did not fit quite so 
nicely on Nellie, and was too long for her, and she was evi- 
dently ill at ease when she noticed her teacher looking at 
the bright pink flowers that were so thickly set on the w r hite 
ground. 

The discovery was one that could not but interest a 
heart so benevolent as that which pulsated in the bosom of 
that village school-teacher. She ascertained the residence 
of their mother, and though sorely shortened herself by a 
narrow purse, that same night, having found at the only 
store in the place a few yards of the same material, pur- 
chased a dress for little Nellie, and made arrangements with 
the merchant to send it to her in such a way that the donor 
could not be detected. 

Very bright and happy looked Mary Gray on Friday 



THE LITTLE SISTERS. 



37i 



morning, as she entered the school at an early hour. She 
waited only to place her books in neat order in her desk, 
ere she approached the teacher, and whispering in a voice 
that laughed in spite of her efforts to make it low and 
deferential — "After this week sister Nellie is coming to 
school every day, and oh, I am so glad ! " 

"That is very good news," replied the teacher kindly. 
" Nellie is fond of her books, I see, and I am happy to 
know that she can have an opportunity to study them every 
day." Then she continued, a little good-natured mischief 
encircling her eyes and dimpling her sweet lips — " But can 
your mother spare you both conveniently ? " 

u Oh, yes, ma'am, yes, ma'am, she can now. Something 
happened that she didn't expect, and she is as glad to have 
us come as we are to do so." She hesitated a moment, 
but her young heart was filled to the brim with joy, and 
when a child is happy it is as natural to tell the cause as it 
is for a bird to warble when the sun shines. So out of the 
fullness of her heart she spoke and told her teacher this 
little story. 

She and her sister were the only children of a very poor 
widow, whose health was so delicate that it was almost im- 
possible to support herself and daughters. She was obliged 
to keep them out of school all winter, as they had no suit- 
able clothes to wear, but she told them that if they could 
earn enough by doing odd chores for the neighbors to buy 
each of them a new dress, they might go in the spring. 
Very earnestly had the little girls improved their stray 
chances, and very carefully hoarded the copper coins which 
usually repaid them. They had nearly saved enough to 



372 



SABBATH READINGS. 



buy a dress, when Nellie was taken sick, and as the mother 
had no money beforehand, her own treasure had to be ex- 
pended. 

" Oh, I did feel so bad when school opened and Nellie 
could not go, because she had no dress," said Mary. "I 
told mother I wouldn't go either, but she said I had better, 
for I could teach sister some, and it would be better than 
no schooling. I stood it for a fortnight, but Nellie's little 
face seemed all the time looking at me on the way to school, 
and I could n't be happy a bit, so I finally thought of a way 
by which we could both go, and I told mother I would 
come one day, and the next I would lend Nellie my dress 
and she might come, and that's the way we have done this 
week. But last night, don't you think, somebody sent 
sister a dress just like mine, and now she can come too. 
Oh, if I only knew who it was, I would get down on my 
knees and thank them, and so would Nellie. But we don't 
know, and so we've done all we could for them — we've 

prayed for them — and oh, Miss M , we are all so glad 

now. Aint you too ? " 

" Indeed I am," was the emphatic answer. And when 
on the following Monday, little Nellie, in the new pink 
dress, entered the schoolroom, her face radiant as a rose in 
sunshine, and approaching the teacher's table, exclaimed, 
in tones as musical as those of a freed fountain, " I am 
coming to school every day, and oh, I am so glad!" The 
teacher felt as she had never done before, that it is more 
blessed to give than to receive. No millionaire, when he 
saw his name in public prints, lauded for his thousand-dollar 
charities, was ever so happy as the poor school-teacher who 



THE LITTLE SISTERS. 



373 



wore her gloves half a summer longer than she ought, and 
thereby saved enough to buy that little fatherless girl a 
calico dress. • 



OUR RECORD. 

We built us grand, gorgeous towers 

Out toward the western sea, 
And said in a dream of the summer hours, 

Thus fair should our record be. 

We would strike the bravest chords 

That ever rebuked the wrong ; 
And through them should tremble all loving words 

That would make the weary strong. 

There entered not into our thought 

The dangers the way led through, 
We saw but the gifts of the good we sought, 

And the good we would strive to do. 

Here trace we a hurried line, 

There blush or a blotted leaf; 
And tears, vain tears, on the eyelids shine, 

That the record is so brief. 



THE "WIDOW'S CHRISTMAS 



was anything in the future that could compensate her for 
the trials she had endured. 

In her girlhood Mrs. Mulford had been surrounded with 
the luxuries of life ; and after her marriage her surround- 
ings were but a trifle less magnificent. In such an air of 
luxury and ease, her children were being reared when sud- 
denly a great change came. 

Mr. Mulford was a rash speculator, and on that memor- 
able " Black Friday/' the idol he had worshiped, the god of 
gold, proved itself to be nothing but clay, and was as dust 
in his hands. He could not rally from the shock ; pride, 
ambition, courage, were all annihilated ; and Mrs. Mulford, 
to whom beggary seemed worse than death, could only 
mingle her tears with his in speechless agony. 





RS. MULFORD was a woman who doted on 
ruins. Nothing in the present was as beautiful 
as she had enjoyed in the past ; and it seemed 
utterly impossible for her to imagine that there 



374 



THE WIDOW'S CHRISTMAS. 375 



Arthur, the eldest child, a boy of fourteen, endeavored 
to comfort his grief-stricken parents. 

" I will work for you, father. I can easily get a place 
in a store." 

"My boy! my boy!" said the poor man, clasping his 
son affectionately in his arms ; " stay by your mother, and 
the girls, they will need you, dear boy ! " And he im- 
printed a kiss on the glowing cheek, that had in it a father's 
blessing and farewell. 

The next morning Mrs. Mulford was a widow, and her 
children fatherless. A trifle the creditors allowed her was 
all she had to depend upon, the money she had inherited 
from her father having been swept away by the financial 
tornado. 

She had taken a little place in the country, and with 
Arthur's help, and Bridget's, — who had followed the for- 
tunes of her mistress — had succeeded in making things look 
quite cozy and attractive. 

"Sure, ma'am," said Bridget, in her homely attempts to 
comfort her mistress, who dragged herself about like a 
sable ghost, " if ye'd only smile once in a while ye'd be 
surprised at the comfort ye'd get ! " 

"Ah, Bridget," Mrs. Mulford replied, with a long-drawn 
sigh, " my smiling days are over. I try to be patient, but 
I cannot be cheerful." 

"Ah, but, it's the cheerful patience that brings the sun- 
shine ; and ye really should n't grieve the children so." 

"Do they mind it, Bridget ? " 

" Sure, an' they do ! Master Arthur, bless the boy ! 
says it's just like a tomb where ye are; and Miss Minnie 



376 



SABBATH READINGS. 



and Maud have their little hearts nearly torn out of them ; 
and they are such wee, little birdies ! " 

But Mrs. Mulford could not be easily beguiled from her 
sorrow, especially as she was obliged to have recourse to 
her needle to eke out the limited allowance, and every stitch 
she took was but an additional reminder of the depth to 
which she was reduced. 

To such a disposition the needle is but a weapon of de- 
spair, bringing neither comfort nor hope, nor in any way 
lightening the burdens of life. The recurrence of an anni- 
versary was, to Mrs. Mulford' s mind like the unveiling of a 
monument to the departed, and was usually spent in solitude 
and tears. 

She had managed to exist through the Thanksgiving 
season, and Bridget had done her best to make the occasion 
worthy to be remembered — by the children at least ; and if 
it hadn't been for that kitchen goddess, I don't see how 
the house could have held together. 

She had always some comical story to tell the children, 
something to excite their wonder or admiration, and every 
few days would surprise them with some fresh molasses 
candy or cunning little cakes baked in curious patty pans. 

Minnie and Maud rather enjoyed their poverty, as it al- 
lowed them more freedom and exemption from little rules 
that society enjoined. It was such fun to roll in the snow, 
and draw each other on the sled, without any caution in re- 
gard to ruffles and frills that used to be such a torment to 
them, and such a restraint on their buoyant natures. 

Christmas was drawing near, and its approach filled Mrs. 
Mulford with uncontrollable despondency. It had been a 



Copyrighted by M. A. Vroman, 1905. 

Announcement to Shepherds 



THE WIDOW'S CHRISTMAS. 377 



gay season in her young days, and her own children knew 
it as the season of especial rejoicings and unlimited toys and 
candies. Now it was all so changed ! Even a moderate 
expenditure was not to be thought of, when it was so diffi- 
cult to procure even the necessaries of life, and she really 
wished the day was over, for she dreaded its arrival. The 
furniture never looked so dingy and faded, nor the curtains 
so coarse, nor her surroundings so pitiful, as when she 
looked around and thought that Christmas was coming. 

Neither did the past ever seem so beautiful and glowing 
as when she cast a retrospective glance in that direction at 
this memorable season. But in the kitchen all was anima- 
tion and excitement ; as different an atmosphere as if there 
were ever so many degrees of latitude between them ; Mrs. 
Mulford occupying the frigid, and Bridget the torrid zone. 
Every afternoon and early in the morning, Minnie and 
Maud were down in a corner of the kitchen very busy over 
some mystery, in which Bridget was as much interested as 
they were themselves. 

Arthur bustled about from one room to another, always 
the active, cheery, hopeful boy, who kept everybody in- 
formed of what was going on in the outside world ; and he, 
too, evidently had some weighty secret pressing against the 
buttons of his jacket. Christmas eve came, and the chil- 
dren began to think it never would be dark enough for 
them to get ready for Santa Claus. 

"What are you going to do, Minnie?" inquired Mrs. 
Mulford, as Minnie brought in the stockings to hang by 
the fire. 

" Get ready for Santa Claus, mamma," was the reply. 
" You know that to-morrow is Christmas ! " 



3/3 



SABBATH READINGS. 



" But Santa Clans don't come to poor people, my child," 
and the tears filled her eyes at the recollection of the 
generous gifts of former years. 

" Oh, yes he does, mamma,''' said Minnie, who was eleven 
years old, and two years the senior of her sister ; " yes he 
does! He knows where we live." And she continued 
pinning the stockings upon the line she had stretched across 
the mantel. 

"I wish I could have afforded a tree!" sighed the 
mother, watching her daughter's movements with consider- 
able curiosity. 

" We do n't want a tree, do we, Maud ? A stocking is 
ever so much nicer. It looks so funny all stuffed out, and 
then you don't know what's in it, and you have to shake it 
out, and hunt way in the toe ! Then you can put such tiny 
things in, to make everybody laugh.'' 

Then she pinned on the names which Arthur had 
printed very nicely on slips of paper, and stood off a little 
distance to admire her handiwork. 

Bridget was called in from the kitchen to see if it was 
all right, and Arthur was induced to leave his work just for 
a minute to note the effect of the display. 

" Here now ! " he exclaimed, " I told you to hang up the 
clothes bag for me. You don't suppose that little thing 
will hold all my treasures, do you ? Is the chimney clear ? " 
And he pretended to search anxiously for anything that 
might prevent the descent of good old Santa Claus, whose 
coming had never before been anticipated with such un- 
qualified delight. 

Mrs. Mulford was in the midst of a troubled dream, 



THE WIDOW'S CHRISTMAS. 



when shouts of " Merry Christmas ! Merry Christmas ! " 
rang through the house, and awakened her to the reality of 
the day she so long had dreaded. 

She knew how dreadfully disappointed the children 
would be, it is so hard for them to understand the exigencies 
of life, and wished she might keep her room all day and 
have Bridget bring up her meals. 

" If ye please, ma'am," said the worthy maid-of-all-work, 
not stopping to knock at the door, " if ye please, ma'am, 
ye'd better come down-stairs ; the children are nigh about 
crazy waiting for ye;" and the sunshine of her face illumi- 
nated the long room after she had retreated down the 
stairway. 

"They can't feel very bad," said Mrs. Mulford, as she 
slowly turned from her room. " It seems to me I never 
heard them laugh so heartily. Oh, to be a child again 1 " 
And she sighed heavily. 

As she entered the sitting-room, what a sight met her 
eyes ! There were wreaths of green over her portrait and 
papa's ; a narrow border running round the mantel ; and 
festoons falling in every direction. 

"Come, mother," said Arthur, "you first; Bridget can 
hardly wait, and our breakfast won't be worth eating." 

"Oh, no," said the mother, "Maud should have the 
first chance ; and the impatient child eagerly availed herself 
of the privilege. 

It was astonishing what an amount of goodies rolled out 
of that stocking, and after they were laid aside there were 
one or two parcels to be opened. There was a nice pair of 
warm gloves, just what she wanted to use in drawing the 



38o 



SABBATH READINGS. 



sled, or making snow-balls ; a new doll, and a book full of 
pictures. Minnie's stocking was quite as bountifully 
stocked, and every new surprise seemed to enkindle their 
mirth and enthusiasm. 

Arthur had filled his own stockings with all sorts of 
odds and ends, on purpose to increase the fun and hilarity, 
and pretended to be surprised that Santa Claus patronized 
second-hand shops. Bridget sat down with the children to 
unload her collection of treasures, and even Mrs. Mulford 
was forced to laugh heartily at her comical remarks, espe- 
cially when she drew out a potato, which was labeled, " The 
last of the Murphys ! " " May they always be first in the 
field ! " said Bridget. 

When Mrs. Mulford was finally induced to examine the 
contents of her own stocking, the children, with Bridget, 
who was only an older child, gathered around, and watched 
anxiously the proceedings. 

There were a pair of nice brackets hanging outside, 
which Arthur had cut with a penknife ; and as she took up 
each article that had been wrought by loving little fingers, 
the worsted pulse-warmers, the pretty mats and tidies, she 
felt that it was indeed possible for love to build upon the 
old ruins a beautiful palace for the heart to dwell in. 

" Forgive me, my dear children ! " she exclaimed, em- 
bracing them each in turn. " Bridget, my good girl, we 
will begin the world anew. I have been a weak woman." 

" Sorry a bit of it 1" said Bridget, wiping away her tears 
with the corner of her apron. u It's a heavy cross ye had, 
but we're all going to help carry it." 

"And, mother," broke in Arthur, "I've got a situation 
in a grocery store." 



THE WIDOW'S CHRISTMAS. 381 



"Arthur!" 

"Yes. It isn't much, but I'll learn the business ; and 
then, you know, I can take care of you." 

What a Christmas breakfast they had! It wasn't so 
much what was on the table, although Bridget had made 
delicious waffles, and everything was super-excellent, but it 
was the guest that sat at the board with them that made it 
a feast to be remembered. While they were at the table, 
talking over plans in which the mother manifested un- 
doubted interest, there was a sudden, sharp knock at the 
door that startled all the inmates of the house. 

"A new calamity!" sighed Mrs. Mulford, falling back 
into the old attitude. 

" It must be Santa Claus himself ! " exclaimed Bridget, 
putting her head through the kitchen door. Arthur ad- 
mitted the gentleman, so swarthed in an immense scarf 
about the neck and chin as to leave one in doubt as to 
whether he were friend or foe. 

"Well, well!" said the stranger, divesting himself of his 
wraps, and stamping the snow from his boots in the little 
hall ; " Such a tramp as I have had ! Where's Carrie ? " 

" Carrie? " inquired Arthur, fearing he had admitted a 
lunatic. - 

"Yes, Carrie. My niece, Carrie Wharton. Are you 
her boy?" 

"I don't know, sir." 

"No more do I. She was Carrie Wharton, married 
Ned Mulford, and a long tramp I've had to find her." 

"Have you any bad news?" inquifed Arthur, laying a 
detaining hand on the stranger's arm; "because, if you 



382 



SABBATH READINGS. 



have, I'd rather you would n't mention it to-day. My name 
is Arthur Mulford, and we've had such a happy Christmas." 

" No fear, my boy, bless your tender heart ! Why, I've 
come from Santa Claus myself, and am chock full of sun- 
shine that turns into gold." Saying which, he entered the 
room where Mrs. Mulford and her children were sitting, 
and Bridget hurrying to clear off the breakfast things. 

"Carrie!" said the stranger in eager tones, advancing 
toward Mrs. Mulford, who seemed to have heard a voice 
from the far-away past. She was in her own home again, 
a careless child ; father and mother were living, death had 
never crossed her threshold, and all was joy and happiness. 
A bewildered moment, and then a flash of recognition. 

"Uncle Nathan!" 

" Yes, dear child ! Would I could have got to you 
sooner;" and he held the weary head close to his generous 
heart, and smoothed the worn brow. 

"I felt I was growing old, and had a hankering after a 
home to die in, and always the face of my little niece, 
Carrie, seemed to give me the heartiest welcome." 

"Then you didn't die," said Arthur, looking on the 
scene as if it were a part of a fairy story. 

" Of course I didn't. Came near it, a dozen times, but 
always escaped. Couldn't see why I was spared and better 
folks taken, but it's all clear now. Why, I had as hard 
work finding out anything about Ned Mulford, or Ned 
Mulford' s widow, as if I'd been trying to find Captain 
Kidd." 

"It's because of our poverty," sighed the widow. 
" Yes, I suppose so. It's the way of the world ! But 
who cares ? We'll begin the world anew." 



THE WIDOW'S CHRISTMAS. 383 



Mrs. Mulford stared at hearing her own words repeated, 
and Bridget, who kept an ear on the proceedings, stood for 
a moment in open-mouthed amazement, much as if she 
feared that there was to be another great convulsion of 
nature. 

"Yes," continued Uncle Nathan, "yes, that's what 
brought me back. Money don't make a home, I know that 
well enough, for I've seen it tried. Arthur, what are your 
plans ? " 

" I was going into Mr. Chase's grocery the first of 
January." 

" Do you want to ? Any taste for hams, herrings, tape, 
and shoe-strings ? " 

"No, sir," replied Arthur, laughing at the combination, 
"but I'd like to help mother. I promised father to see 
after her." 

"You've done your duty. But my opinion is you'd 
rather go to college than into a grocery." 

" Oh, sir ! " and the flush on the boy's face was not to 
be misunderstood. 

" College it is, then. Carrie, you are to be my house- 
keeper; these are my little girls ;" clasping the children in 
a hearty embrace, "and see if we do n't turn out a happier 
family than any Barnum ever exhibited." 

The Christmas dinner was a marvel of cookery, and 
Uncle Nathan enlivened the meal with accounts of his ad- 
ventures. 

"And this was the Christmas I had dreaded ! " said Mrs. 
Mulford, as she retired to her room. 

The children had reluctantly gone to bed, fearing that 



3^4 



SABBATH READINGS. 



this good "Santa Claus," as they persisted in calling Uncle 
Nathan, would disappear in the night, and leave them as 
suddenly as he came. 

Arthur dreamed of his books and college, and woke up 
half a dozen times in the night to assure himself that the 
great man sleeping so soundly beside him was not simply 
the magician of the "Arabian Nights." 

Mrs. Mulford's pride was truly humbled by this mani- 
festation of God's goodness, and long and earnestly she 
prayed that henceforth, whatever trials might come upon 
her, she might bear the burden with cheerful patience, 
trusting in God to lead her through the shadows into the 
sunshine of a more perfect day. And in after life no 
memory was more precious to her than that of a Christmas 
morning when the children taught her a lesson of unselfish- 
ness and duty. 

Come into our homes, oh ye Christmas angels ! Brush 
away the cobwebs that regret and selfishness have strewn 
around, and put in their stead the wreaths and vines that 
are fragrant with the immortality of love ! No home so 
poor that will not be the brighter for your coming ! No 
heart that is not enriched by your presence, oh ever blessed 
Christmas guests ! 



XT was a summer afternoon; the wheelbarrow 
stood before Mrs. Robin's door ; the street was 
empty of all traffic, for the heat was intense. 
I sauntered languidly along on the shady side 
opposite the widow's house, and noticed her boy bringing 
out some linen in baskets to put on the wheelbarrow. I 
was surprised at the size of the baskets he was lugging 
along the passage and lifting on to the wheelbarrow, and 
paused to look at him. He pulled, and dragged, and then 
resting a moment began again, and in the silence of the 
street, I heard him saying something to himself. I half 
crossed the road. He was too busy to notice me, and then, 
in a pause of his toil, I heard him gasp out, " With a will, 
Joe." He was encouraging himself to a further effort with 
these words. At last, bringing the large basket to the 
curbstone, he ran in and got a piece of smooth wood as a 
lever ; resting one end of the basket on the wheelbarrow, 
he heaved up the other end, and saying a little louder than 

25 3*5 



3§6 



SABBATH READINGS. 



before, "With a will, Joe/' the basket was mounted on to 
the wheelbarrow. 

As he rested, and looked proudly at his successful effort, 
he saw me, and his round, red face, covered with perspira- 
tion, became scarlet for a moment, as I said, "That's a 
brave boy." The mother's voice sounded in the passage, 
"I'm coming, Joe/ 1 and out she came as the child, pointing 
to the basket, said, "I've managed it, mother.'' It was a 
pretty sight, the looks of the widow and her willing boy. 
Though no further word was spoken, the sense of satisfac- 
tion on each face was very plain, and I have no doubt in 
each heart there was a throb of pleasure that words have 
no language for. 

I went on my way, but the saying, '"'With a will, Joe," 
went with me. How much there was in that simple phrase, 
" With a will ! " . How different is our work according as 
we do it with or against our will. This little fellow might 
have cried or murmured, or left his mother to do the work, 
and been dissatisfied with himself, and a source of discon- 
tent to his mother, but he had spurred himself on to toil 
and duty, with his words, powerful in their simplicity — 
"With a will, Joe.'' 

Often since have I recalled the scene and the saying. 
When some young lady complains to me, " I have no time 
to give to doing good. I've visits to make, and shopping 
to do, and embroider}" to finish, how can I help the poor 
when I'm so pressed for time? " I am apt to say mentally, 
" How different it would be with her, if she had ever said 
to herself, 'With a will.' " 

Yes, with a will we can do almost anything that ought 



WITH A WILL, JOE. 



387 



to be done ; and without a will we can do nothing as it 
should be done. To all of us, whatever our station, there 
come difficulties and trials. If we yield to them we are 
beaten down and conquered. But if we, ourselves, conquer 
the temptation to do wrong, calling the strength of. God to 
aid us in our struggle with the enemy, we shall grow 
stronger and more valiant with every battle, and less liable 
to again fall into temptation. Our wisdom and our duty 
are to rouse ourselves, — to speak to our own hearts as the 
child did in his simple words, "With a will, Joe." When 
there is any wrong thing that we want to do, our will then 
is strong enough. The Evil One comes with his tempta- 
tion, and helps us to our ruin, with his strength. 

The times when we flag are when we want to do right. 
" When I would do good, evil is present with me," was the 
testimony of the apostle of the Gentiles, and it is the ex- 
perience of all, unless they go to Him who can make our 
wills obedient to his will. Our prayer should be, " Create 
in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit [will] 
within me." 

DO WITH YOUR MIGHT. 

Whatsoe'er you find to do, 

Do it, boys, with all your might! 
Never be a little true, 
Or a little in the right. 

Trifles even 

Lead to heaven, 
Trifles make the life of man ; 

So in all things, 

Great or small things, 
Be as thorough as you can . 



ONE afternoon in the month of June, 1870, a lady 
in deep mourning, followed by a little child, 
entered one of the fashionable saloons in the 
city of N . The writer happened to be 

passing at the time, and prompted by curiosity, followed 
her in to see what would ensue. Stepping up to the bar, 
and addressing the proprietor, she said : — 

"Sir, can you assist me? I have no home, no friends, 
and am not able to work." 

He glanced at her and then at the child, with a mingled 
took of curiosity and pity. Evidently he was much sur- 
prised to see a woman in such a place, begging, but, without 
asking any questions, gave her some change, and turning 
to those present, he said : — 

" Gentlemen, here is a lady in distress. Can't some of 
you help her a little? " 

They cheerfully acceded to the request, and soon a 
purse of two dollars was made up and put into her hand. 
" Madam," said the gentleman who gave her the money, 
388 



AFFECTING SCENE IN A SALOON. 389 



"why do you come to a saloon? It isn't a proper place 
for a lady, and why are you driven to such a step ? " 

"Sir," said the lady, "I know it isn't a proper place 
for a lady to be in, and you ask me why I am driven to 
such a step. I will tell you, in one short word," pointing 
to a bottle behind the counter labelled "whisky," — "that is 
what brought me here — whisky. I was once happy, and 
surrounded with all the luxuries wealth could produce, with 
a fond, indulgent husband. But in an evil hour he was 
tempted, and not possessing the will to resist the tempta- 
tion, fell, and in one short year my dream of happiness was 
over, my home was forever desolate, and the kind husband, 
and the wealth that some called mine, lost — lost, never to 
return ; and all by the accursed wine cup. You see before 
you only the wreck of my former self, homeless and friend- 
less, with nothing left me in this world but this little child ;" 
and weeping bitterly, she affectionately caressed the golden 
curls that shaded a face of exquisite loveliness. Regaining 
her composure, and turning to the proprietor of the saloon, 
she continued : — 

" Sir, the reason why I occasionally enter a place like 
this is to implore those who deal in this deadly poison to 
desist, to stop a business that spreads desolation, ruin, pov- 
erty, and starvation. Think one moment of your own loved 
ones, and then imagine them in the situation I am in. I 
appeal to your better nature, I appeal to your heart, for I 
know you possess a kind one, to retire from a business so 
ruinous to your patrons. 

" Do you know the money you take across the bar is 
the same as taking the bread out of the mouths of Ulc 



390 SABBATH READINGS. 

famishing? That it strips the clothing from their backs, 
deprives them of all the comforts of this life, and throws 
unhappiness, misery, crime, and desolation into their once 
happy homes ? O ! sir, I implore, beseech, and pray you to 
retire from a business you blush to own you are engaged in 
before your fellow men, and enter one that will not only be 
profitable to yourself, but to your fellow-creatures also. 
You will excuse me if I have spoken too plainly, but I 
could not help it when I thought of the misery, the unhap- 
piness, and the suffering it has caused me." 

"Madam, I am not offended," he answered, in a voice 
husky with emotion, " but I thank you from the bottom of 
my heart for what you have said." 

"Mamma," said the little girl — who, meantime, had 
been spoken to by some of the gentlemen present — taking 
hold of her mother's hand, " these gentlemen want me to 
sing ' Little Bessie ' for them. Shall I do so ? " 

They all joined in the request, and placing her in the 
chair, she sung, in a sweet, childish voice, the following 
beautiful song: — 

" Out in the gloomy night, sadly I roam ; 
I have no mother dear, no pleasant home ; 
No one cares for me, no one would cry 
Even if poor little Bessie should die. 
Weary and tired I've been wandering all day, 
Asking for work, but I'm too small, they say; 
On the damp ground I must now lay my head ; 
Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead. 

" We were so happy till father drank rum, 
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun ; 
Mother grew pale, and wept every day ; 
Baby and I were t~o hungry to play. 



AFFECTING SCENE IN A SALOON. 391 



Slowly they faded, till one summer night 
Found their dead faces all silent and white ; 
Then with big tears slowly dropping, I said, 
4 Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead.' 

" Oh ! if the temperance men could only find 
Poor, wretched father, and talk very kind ; 
If they would stop him from drinking, then 
I should be very happy again. 
Is it too late, temperance men ? Please try, 
Or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die. 
All the day long I've been begging for bread; 
Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead." 

The game of billiards was left unfinished, the cards 
thrown aside, and the unemptied glass remained on the 
counter; all had pressed near, some with pity-beaming 
eyes, entranced with the musical voice and beauty of the 
child, who seemed better fitted to be with angels above 
than in such a place. 

The scene I shall never forget to my dying day, and 
the sweet cadence of her musical voice still rings in my 
ears, and from her lips sunk deep into the hearts of those 
gathered around her. 

With her golden hair falling carelessly around her 
shoulders, and looking so trustingly and confidingly upon 
the gentlemen around her, the beautiful eyes illuminated 
with a light that seemed not of this earth, she formed a 
picture of purity and innocence worthy the genius of a poet 
or painter. 

At the close of the song many were weeping ; men who 
had not shed a tear for years wept like children. One 
young man who had resisted with scorn the pleadings of 
a loving mother, and entreaties of friends to strive and lead 



392 



SABBATH READINGS. 



a better life, to desist from a course that was wasting his 
fortune and ruining his health, now approached the child, 
and taking both hands in his, while tears streamed down 
his cheeks, exclaimed, in deep emotion : — 

" God bless you, my little angel. You have saved me 
from ruin and disgrace, from poverty and a drunkard's 
grave. If there are angels on earth, you are one ! God 
bless you ! God bless you ! " and putting a note into the 
hand of the mother, said : — 

" Please accept this trifle as a token of my regard and 
esteem, for your little girl has done me a kindness I can 
never repay ; and remember, whenever you are in want, 
you will find me a true friend ;" at the same time giving 
her his name and address. 

Taking her child by the hand she turned to go, but, 
pausing at the door, said : — 

" God bless you, gentlemen ! Accept the heartfelt 
thanks of a poor, friendless woman for the kindness and 
courtesy you have shown her." Before any one could 
reply she was gone. 

A silence of several minutes ensued, which was broken 
by the proprietor, who exclaimed : — 

" Gentlemen, that lady was right, and I have sold my 
last glass of whisky ; if any one of you want any more 
you will have to go elsewhere." 

"And I have drunk my last glass of whisky," said a 
young man who had long been given up as sunk too low 
ever to reform, and as utterly beyond the reach of those 
who had a deep interest in his welfare. 



NELLIE ALTON'S MOTHER 




AMMA, O mamma!" cried an eager young 
voice ; and Nellie Alton, a plump, rosy school- 
girl of twelve summers, rushed into her moth- 
er's room, and, flinging her text-books on the 
sofa, seated herself on an ottoman at her mother's feet. 
Mrs. Alton looked up from her sewing with a quiet smile, 
and said, as she pushed back the tangled curls from Nellie's 
uplifted forehead, — 

"What is the matter with my daughter? Has any- 
thing serious occurred at the institute? " 

"O mamma," said Nellie, half reproachfully, "you 
can't have forgotten that it is just a week to-day since I 
received that invitation to Minnie Shelburne's party. You 
said at the time, that you didn't know whether I might 
accept, and I think I've been very patient not to tease you 
about it. Almost all the girls are going. Mrs. Doane has 
bought the loveliest silk for Carrie and Jessie ; and Mrs. 
Hilton has three women sewing on Emma's dress. Here 

393 




394 



SABBATH READINGS. 



I am not knowing whether I can go. Cousin Sue said she 
thought my ' mother a woman of great deliberation.' " 

" In years to come you will rejoice over the truth of 
that remark, my darling." 

"But, mamma, please decide now, won't you?" 

" I have decided, my dear. Last night your father and 
I had a long talk about the matter, and we agreed—" 

"To let me go?" cried eager Nellie. 

" No, dear. Anxious for your truest good, we were 
sorry we should have to disappoint you. But we cannot 
grant you a harmful pleasure." Nellie bit her lip, while 
her eyes filled with tears. 

" May I ask your reasons, mamma ? " 

" Yes, dear ; and I feel that my sensible little daughter 
cannot but be satisfied with them. All the advantages 
you are now having tend to make you, at some future time, 
a useful woman in society. To obtain their full benefit, 
your mind must remain undiverted from your studies, and 
you must be kept free from everything that will detract from 
your health and strength. Parties will excite you, deprive 
you of sleep, fill your mind with foolish fancies, retard you 
in your school work, and make you thin, pale, and irritable. 
We should sadly miss our bright, blooming Nellie. Do 
you wonder we refuse to let you attend the party ? " 

"But just once cannot hurt me," pleaded Nellie. 

" The one party, my child, will be followed by a score 
of them. If you go to Miss Shelburne's, the other girls 
will wonder why you cannot attend theirs, and ill feeling 
will arise. We will talk no more about it now. Sometime 
you will thank me for my course. Are you satisfied ? " 



NELLIE ALTON'S MOTHER. 



395 



" I'll try to be, mamma/' said Nellie ; but there were a 
few suspicious drops on her eyelashes. 

The night of the party arrived. Nellie had had a very 
trying week at school, for the girls thought of nothing else 
besides their fine preparations. She bore it bravely, and 
after tea sat resolutely down to her lessons, which were 
unusually difficult. Half-past eight found her closing her 
books with the air of a conqueror, while she exclaimed, — 

"Now, mamma, they're all done, every one. May I 
run over and see Cousin Sue off?" 

Consent was given, and Nellie entered her uncle's vesti- 
bule just as Sue was descending the stairs, in a cloud- of 
lace and pink silk. She felt a little choking in her throat, 
but said, quietly, " Sue, you look lovely ; but to-morrow's 
French exercise is terribly hard." 

" And Miss Propriety Stay-at-home has prepared for it, 
I infer. Aren't you sorry you can't go?" said Sue, set- 
tling her flounces with a satisfied air. 

st Mother knows best," said Nellie, decidedly; then she 
went home. While her sixth hour of sleep, sweet and 
restful, was passing by, poor, tired, cross Sue returned 
home, and wearily climbed the stairs to her room. 

Next day Nellie came home, saying, " I am at the head 
of all my classes. Some of the girls were late, others had 
headaches, all of them were disagreeable, and none of them 
had half prepared their lessons. Professor Marshly was 
very angry, but he thanked me for my good example to 
others. You dearest mother 1 I'll trust you as long as I 
live." And grateful Nellie sealed the compact with a kiss. 

Years afterward, two ladies were seated in a pleasant 



396 SABBATH READINGS. 



room engaged in conversation. One of them reclined on a 
sofa, and her sallow features and restless, dissatisfied man- 
ner marked her an invalid. The face of the other was 
bright with health and vivacity. Her sunny smile and 
cheery voice showed her a stranger to sickness and pain. 

" Nellie, my dear," sighed the former, "you can have no 
idea of the dreadful condition of my nervous system. I 
spend the greater part of the day on the sofa. The chil- 
dren are a perfect worriment, everything about the house 
goes wrong, Ralph looks so discontented. I cannot enjoy 
society at all. In fact, the doctor says I had too much 
dissipation when young, and ruined my constitution with 
the parties and late suj pers. I would give my fortune for 
your good health and cheerful spirits." 

" Cousin Sue, I remember when you used to drive off 
to parties, and think scornfully of my quiet home evenings." 

" I remember, Nellie. Do hand me the hartshorn and 
another cushion, and please lower that shade a little. 
There, thank you. Now will you inform me to what you 
owe your healthy, happy life ? " 

At this moment the door opened, and a silver-haired, 
sweet-faced lady entered. Nellie rose to meet her, and 
twining one arm about the lady's waist, ct Cousin Sue," she 
said, " my perfect health, my calm, happy mind, the good I 
am enabled to do for God and humanity, the comfort I suc- 
ceed in giving to my husband and children, the knowledge 
I have of my heavenly Father, and the love I bear him, I 
owe to the judicious care, the wise counsel, and the tender 
love and prayers of my mother." 



Look to Your Thoughts. 



1 ANY suppose that if they can guard themselves 
against improper words and wicked deeds, they 
cannot be very guilty on account of thoughts 
which may revolve in their minds, however cor- 
rupt they may be. They look upon their thoughts as 
things which spring up in the heart by some laws of asso- 
ciation which they cannot understand, or which, if under- 
stood, they cannot control. As they have not summoned, 
so neither, in their view, can they dismiss them ; but must 
surrender themselves to their influence for a period, longer 
or shorter, until some circumstance occurs which gives a 
new direction to the current of thinking. When they con- 
fess their sins, there are oftentimes words and deeds which 
they admit to be greviously in conflict with the demands of 
the divine Word. But it rarely happens that any unhal- 
lowed imaginations in which they have indulged awaken 
emotions of genuine sorrow. Now the thoughts are the 
guests we entertain — the company we receive into the in- 
nermost privacy of our bosoms. And just as a man is cen- 
surable who voluntarily and habitually consorts with 
corrupting company, so is he to be condemned who deliber- 
ately entertains depraved thoughts. 

Let every one, and especially every young man, remem- 
ber that God holds us responsible fo* our tJioitglits. Man 
can take cognizance only of the outward appearance. His 

397 



393 



SABBATH READINGS. 



observation must be limited to those words and actions 
which can be perceived by the senses. But the scrutiny 
of Omniscience extends further, penetrating the evil which 
hides our inner selves from the view of others ; it explores 
the most private recesses of the spirit, and perfectly under- 
stands that portion of our character which others cannot 
scan. Man can only call us good or evil, as our words and 
actions authorize. But He whose glance enters the heart 
and surveys the emotions which are there cherished, con- 
demns, as wicked, every unhallowed thought ; and will as 
surely take these into the account in determining our final 
retribution as he will consider in that reckoning our out- 
ward acts. " Guard well your thoughts. " " Your thoughts 
are heard in heaven/ 9 says a distinguished poet. Never 
was there a more scriptural sentiment. 

But perhaps there may be those to whom this may look 
like a harsh procedure. If it were true, as some suppose, 
that we could not control our thoughts — that they rushed 
uninvited upon our attention, that they detained that atten- 
tion for a time, longer or shorter, just as they pleased, and 
that they departed as unceremoniously as they entered our 
mind — then I grant that it would be hard to make us re- 
sponsible for such visitors. If we had no power over our 
own mental operations, it would seem as unjust to punish 
us for our delinquencies in these particulars as to censure 
us for the depravity of a resident of Asia or Africa. But 
can you defend such a position as this? Have you no 
power to determine what themes shall and what shall not 
employ your meditations? Are you the mere slave for 
your thoughts, compelled to follow as they, by some caprice, 



LOOK TO YOUR THOUGHTS. 399 



may direct ? No intelligent mind in which the will is ruler 
is prepared to admit that it has been subjected to such 
vassalage. 

The truth is, and I appeal to your own consciences in 
support of the declaration, that you are endowed with the 
power of thinking upon just such subjects as you may pre- 
fer. You can, at pleasure, direct your attention to any 
topic, agreeable or disagreeable, lawful or unlawful, con- 
nected with the past, present, or future ; you can revolve it 
in your mind for a longer or shorter period, and then you 
can dismiss it entirely from your consideration. If this 
were not true ; if your thoughts were not under the control 
of the will, you would be incompetent to manage your busi- 
ness ; you would be disqualified for every pursuit of life 
involving the exercise of reason. You would in truth be 
insane. 

Now it is because God has given us the power over 
our own thinking that it assumes a moral complexion in his 
sight. The man who resigns himself to unholy reveries, or 
who entertains in his own heart purposes which, if acted 
out, would render him liable to the censure of his fellow 
men, and to condemnation from God, is as certainly guilty, 
though it may not be to the same extent, as though he had 
been openly corrupt and abandoned. " Out of the heart," 
says the Saviour, " proceed evil thoughts." Here observe 
that our Lord plainly teaches that our thoughts may be evil 
or sinful, and therefore may expose him who harbors them 
to punishment. And lest any one should be disposed to 
look upon evil thoughts as an offense too trivial to awaken 
any concern, mark the company in which this sin is found. 



400 



SABBATH READINGS. 



Learn from those offenses with which it is classed some- 
thing of the enormity to which it may rise. "Out of the 
heart proceedeth evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornica- 
tions, thefts, false witness, blasphemies." 

One of the most important counsels in the entire vol- 
ume of Revelation, is the direction of the wise man : "Keep 
thy heart with all diligence." This is the fountain whence 
issue the streams which are to fertilize and gladden, or to 
pollute and destroy. No one was ever wicked in speech or 
action who was not first wicked in heart. The deeds of 
atrocity which shock us in execution were first performed 
in heart — in thought. Had this been "kept," had the 
early idea been restrained, the result so fearful in develop- 
ment might have been averted. Young men, look to the 
springs of action, as you would avoid acts which involve 
you in ruin and disgrace. Keep the heart as you would 
secure a conduit, which, with God's blessing, will make you 
honorable, lawful, and happy now, and all that you desire 
hereafter. Look to your thoughts* 



JUL 5 1905 



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